


What Makes a Good Man

by dizzy



Category: Glee RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-28
Updated: 2014-01-28
Packaged: 2018-01-10 09:42:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 25,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1158126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dizzy/pseuds/dizzy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chris is trying to make it through high school. Darren is trying to make it through life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

They’re halfway into October when Mrs. Reinhardt, the music teacher, has a stroke. 

She’ll live. Chris is glad, for no other reason than he doesn’t want to sit through the plethora of exaggerated emotion and revisionist history nostalgia that would come with a teacher dying. 

For four days they sit in front of a tv wheeled into the room and watch Mean Girls. Each time the class period starts the movie starts fresh, which means they see the first 50 minutes four times. 

Chris didn’t even want to watch the movie in the first place, but not knowing how it ends starts to niggle at him by the third day. He wonders if the administration (or maybe the universe) is trying to send some sort of message by leaving that one for them. 

Not like it would work. The students of East Clovis require something more anvil-shaped to land on them for awareness to actually strike. 

On day five - a Friday, since Reinhardt was polite enough to have her stroke on a Monday morning - they have a sub. 

He walks in and immediately looks like he’s not sure if he’s supposed to be there. He’s young, stubble on his cheeks, hair a mess. He has a button up on with a vest over it with cream slacks. It’s far from a daring fashion choice, but it’s revolutionary for the halls of Clovis, where all the male teachers wear khakis and half of them have beer guts that hang over the waist. 

No beer gut on this guy. He’s… hot. 

Chris darts his gaze around the room, like his classmates might have actually heard him think it. 

Everyone is too busy staring at the sub, who is turning off the tv and then writing his name on the whiteboard. 

Mr. Criss.

*

 

Mr. Criss is less boring than the last teacher, at least. 

He always starts off by the book but all it takes is one student asking one question to spark something inside of him, and the last half hour will end up being totally unrelated to anything they’ll be tested about. 

It’s a Music Appreciation class, though, and it’s glaringly obvious to all of the students that pay attention (what probably amounts to three of them, Chris thinks) that Mr. Criss appreciates music to almost an unhealthy extent. He tends to ramble on and on about things not even remotely related to what they’re supposed to be studying, but Mr. Criss is easy enough on the eyes that Chris can forgive that. He even finds himself doodling in his notebook less and listening more. 

He never asks questions himself, even though sometimes he wants to. He comes to love it when Mr. Criss pulls out his iPod or his laptop and plays things for them. 

He loves it when other people _do_ ask questions, because it seems like Mr. Criss knows everything about music that there is to know. 

Chris only signed up for Music Appreciation because he needed another elective and it seemed like the easiest one. Now it’s his favorite class. 

*

It’s not the first time he’s found himself limping down an empty school hallway. 

It’s also not the first iPod he’s lost to the greedy neanderthal hands of an East Clovis football player. His parents would be livid if he told them, so he won’t. He’ll just wait, scrounge and save up some money and maybe in a few months see if he can buy another one. 

Chris’s parents have so much to deal with, with his sister. They’ve never really known how to deal with him, because everything about him seems so insignificant beside what she goes through. 

It’s not that they don’t care. His parents love him, they just - they don’t notice him a lot, unless it’s very bad, and he hates that feeling. 

The last time he told them he was being bullied they home schooled him for two years and by the time he convinced them to let him go back he was way behind. Being at home wasn’t a pleasant experience either. He’d never admit it, because he loves her, but he was miserable with Hannah as his only companion. Half the time she was in the hospital and all those days just sitting in waiting rooms or by her bed seemed endless. He doesn't want to risk being pulled out his senior year.

He’s more pissed about the iPod than the blood dripping over his cheek. At least - he thinks- the blood freaked them the fuck out. The edge of the locker was jagged but the cut is thin, only bleeding so much because of the placement. 

He doesn’t want to touch it but he can feel the blood about to drip down his cheek and the last thing he wants is to stain his backpack. He can sacrifice the t-shirt he’s wearing but his jacket will require heavier cleaning if he gets any on it-

“Colfer?” 

“Shit,” Chris blurts out, not wanting to turn around. “I’m mean -- fuck. Shit! I’m-- ” 

Mr. Criss just laughs. “Hey, calm down-- _whoa_. What happened?” 

He goes from sounding amused to sounding alarmed the second he sees Chris’s face. 

“Brutal locker-on-student hate crime. 7204 has it in for me, and I don’t know why.” Chris deadpans. “I can take care of it. I was just heading to the bathroom-- ” 

“No way,” Mr. Criss says, hand firm on his arm guiding him to walk in a new direction. “Come on, it’s like my responsibility as a teacher or something. Plus, I have a first aid kit.” 

So do I, Chris almost says, but he doesn’t want to raise any more suspicions. Mr. Criss doesn’t really need to know how regularly this happens. No one does. 

*

“Isn’t this inappropriate?” Chris asks. 

He means the proximity, of course. The proximity and the privacy - don’t teachers get in trouble for this? Being alone with a student? And the touching. Mr. Criss is touching him. Just one hand on his face and one on his shoulder, but he’s seventeen. That’s enough. He’s dizzy with how close Mr. Criss is, the smell of cologne and how his stubble looks up close. The only thing going through his mind is don’t get a boner, don’t get a boner. 

Life would be so much easier if he weren’t gay. It’s not like random boners when in proximity to someone he’s attracted to wouldn’t happen, but he would worry about the reaction being revulsion and a semester of abuse much less. Luckily the ache of freshly bruised ribs and the cut on his head seem to be dampening that natural reaction effectively.

Though, the way Mr. Criss gives him that half-smirk that makes his lips stretch tight and his eyes scrunch a little - it gives him a whole different feeling, one that might be almost as dangerous. “ _Wildly_ inappropriate, but that’s like status quo for me. Just ask my college friends. Or my _parents_.” 

“Oh.” It’s a joke, of course it’s a joke. Chris wants to laugh - that’s what you _do_ with jokes, you laugh at them. But he’s still holding himself carefully.

Mr. Criss doesn’t seem to notice, or if he does, doesn’t say anything. Even Chris’s breathing is shallow as Mr. Criss dabs at another cut, then leans in close to inspect it. 

“Besides,” Mr. Criss says. “I’m betting if someone walked in right now they’d have more to say about you being a human punching bag than me sitting here with peroxide and cotton balls, right?” 

His breath smells like coffee. It’s a freakishly intimate bit of knowledge to suddenly be in possession of. Chris’s eyes flutter shut and then open again, like he can’t bring himself to miss a moment of this even though he’s not quite sure what to do with it. 

He’s not sure what to do with what Mr. Criss is saying, either. The words make embarrassment burn in his gut, like he should be better than this. If nothing else, he should be smart enough to know how to avoid getting pummeled by cretins who can barely spell their own names. 

Having anyone see him like this is a blow to his pride that rivals the ones to his body. That it’s this teacher, that’s just salt to the wound. “Will I live?”

“Hmm,” Mr. Criss says, humming. “I guess. Maybe. I’d try to stay out from under the feet of asshole teenagers if at all possible, though.” 

Chris stiffens. “I didn’t get beat up on _purpose_.” 

“Uh, whoa.” One of Mr. Criss’s hands comes down on Chris’s shoulder. “It was-- I didn’t-- of course you didn’t-- hey, look, those kids are fucking _idiots_ , okay? And if you’d just tell me who, I could do something-- ”

Frustration tinges his voice, but it’s not the patient kind. It’s angry, it’s real. It’s a mirror of what Chris feels all the time, every day. 

But he still just shakes his head and doesn’t say anything. Mr. Criss might want to help, but that doesn’t mean he really can. Chris pushes back. “I should get home. My mom has a meeting tonight, I have to be there to watch my sister.” 

“I wasn’t done-- ” Mr. Criss protests. 

“It’ll be fine,” Chris says, wincing as he pulls his shirt back in. “It’s not the first time. I know what to do.” 

Mr. Criss is still calling after him when Chris closes the classroom door behind him. 

*

The next evening, Cro-Magnon Craig is waiting in the same spot, the closest thing to pleasure as his meaty face can possibly transmit. 

You wouldn’t think being shoved into a bank of lockers would hurt that much, but when it’s the fifth day in a row it’s happened, it really fucking does. 

*

“--and, if you little twerps can keep it down to a dull roar, you can do whatever you want with the last ten minutes. That’s all I got today.” Mr Criss makes a goofy little hand motion at the reaction his announcement gets. 

Chris grabs his notebook, his phone, and his headphones out of his bag. He’s just about to pop the earbuds in when he hears Mr. Criss speak again. 

“Oh, and Chris -- yeah, you, Colfer -- see me after class.” Mr. Criss doesn’t look up from his own phone when he says it. 

The people sitting around Chris look at him with a mix of curiosity and sympathy. 

He jams the earbuds in and aggressively listens to Florence and the Machine until the bell rings. He watches everyone else around him shuffle and shove their way out, but stays in his seat. 

He leaves his headphones in once the room is empty, just to be stubborn. 

He’s not even really sure _why_. He likes Mr. Criss. He thinks Mr. Criss is -- well, maybe not one of the best teachers, but he’s far from one of the worst. Chris just has this suspicion that whatever is about to happen will be a scene plucked out of a bad after school special, and he hates those. 

Mr. Criss walks over to him, and then sits backwards in the chair in front of Chris’s desk, arms crossed over the back of it. “I have elected you as my official student paper grader.” 

“What? That’s not even a thing.” Chris doesn’t know any other students who help teachers out like this, except office aides who just get shuffled around. “You can’t just order me to do that.”

“Is so,” Mr. Criss says. “And I can. I ran it through the office. They said it’s fine. I’ll count it as extra credit -- and come on, you need it -- and you’ll spend thirty minutes a day after class helping me.”

“No,” Chris says again, indignant. 

“Fine, then I’ll call your parents and we’ll have a nice student-teacher conference about how shitty your grade is because you never do homework, and then I’ll suggest to them how you can earn the extra credit.” Mr. Criss seems wholly unphased by how underhanded he’s being. 

Chris thinks of all Hannah’s appointments, and how every little accomplishment of hers is something they celebrate. 

The last thing he needs is to stress anyone out more by flunking a class. 

“I’ll start doing my homework,” Chris says. 

“Great. You can do that. _In addition_ to helping me grade.” Mr. Criss actually smiles at him. 

Chris wants to punch him right in those perfect, pink lips. 

“Why?” Chris says, frustration rising and making his voice even higher, a reaction he hates with almost as much of a burning passion as he currently hates Mr. Criss. 

“Because-” Mr. Criss shrugs. “I felt like making one of my students miserable. There’s like a quota, you know? It’s our job to piss off at least four a semester. You are the chosen one for this class period.” 

“Do I really have no say in this?” Chris asks. 

Mr. Criss shakes his head. “Nope. Sorry.” 

He gives Chris a very not-sincerely-apologetic look of sympathy and then hops to his feet and heads back to the front of the class, silently dismissing Chris. 

*

The next day, Mr. Criss reminds him to stay late. 

All the other students are definitely curious now. Chris crosses his arms, not making his annoyance any kind of secret, and doesn’t speak to or even look at any of them. 

“These are some intro essays I had the freshmen in my intro to music class write. They were supposed to pick a historical composer and do a one-page biography, with sources cited.” Mr. Criss walks over to him and drops a stack of papers and a laptop. “So basically what you’re gonna do is take these. Pick a paragraph and run them through this plagiarism detector. If it comes back with 75% or more, put it aside and I’ll check it out more closely later. Oh, and make sure they actually picked a _historical_ composer. Not to malign the good name of Kanye, but he doesn’t count.” 

Chris rolls his eyes. “Is there even a purpose to this?” 

“Duh, of course,” Mr. Criss says. “Four students a semester, remember? Get busy.”

“Well, congratulations,” Chris mumbles, as Mr. Criss walks away. “You got one already.”

He puts his headphones in, just out of principle, and surprisingly half an hour goes by quickly. He’s only seven papers in, from a stack of at least thirty. He feels a tug of nerves. What will Mr. Criss say if he really did want this done, and better? Faster? 

“I’m a slow typer,” he says out loud, and then cringes, because why did he even say that? “I mean. I’m not done.”

“No problem,” Mr. Criss says, slamming shut his own laptop. “You can pick it back up next time. Come on, I’m heading out, too.” 

They don’t say anything, but they walk side by side. “This is my car,” Chris says, and then turns his back to Mr. Criss and gets in the car. 

He only distantly hears Mr. Criss saying, “Bye!” 

*

Chris wakes up at two in the morning and starts to laugh. 

He’s such an _idiot_. He’s an idiot, and Mr. Criss has some kind of fucked up savior complex, because all of a sudden he realizes exactly what Mr. Criss is doing. 

Thirty minutes a day, which puts him stuck in the classroom until just after football practice has started. 

Mr. Criss deciding to leave at exactly the same time, walking out with him. 

Chris flits through a few different reactions - embarrassment, irritation, anger - before he settles firmly on bruised pride and annoyance. 

*

“So what do you do?” Mr. Criss asks one day, while they’re sitting in the empty classroom.

Chris has been doing this, helping Mr. Criss, for almost three weeks now. Sometimes he’s checking the papers, sometimes he’s sorting sheet music and sometimes he’s not really doing anything. 

Sometimes neither of them are. 

Sometimes they just talk. 

The day started out with Chris running copies and stapling quizzes together (not for his class, of course) but he’s finished those and its well past four. He’s on his laptop now, writing. He’s not sure why, but the words come to him more freely in here than anywhere else. Even his room at home feels claustrophobic now. 

He’s never had a place before that felt quite so safe as this classroom when he’s in it with Mr. Criss. So he won’t complain when they stay late, even though he’s not sure exactly why Mr. Criss doesn’t want to go home. He probably has his own house or something. Maybe with a pretty girlfriend (not wife, Chris thinks, since he doesn’t wear a ring) and a dog and a nice big bed that he does _things_ in… 

Chris might not like to think of himself as the typical braindead teenager, but he is still a teenager. He spends a disproportionate amount of time lately thinking about Mr. Criss doing things. 

“What?” Chris asks, not understanding. 

“Like. In your free time. What do you do?” He asks again. 

“I - um. I like to write. And…” He starts to add more, then stops. 

“What?” Mr. Criss is intrigued. “Come on, what else? Video games? Music? Play any sports?”

Chris snorts. “Do I look like the sports playing type?” 

Mr. Criss shrugs. “I don’t stereotype. You could be like, the state ping pong champion for all I know. A track whiz. High jumper-” 

Chris laughs. “No. None of those. I sing a little, but I - I act.” 

Mr. Criss’s face lights up. That’s the only way to describe it. It’s like he’s lit from within, the instant Chris says it. “For real? I did theater in college.” 

“I’ve done some plays around town, at the community theater,” Chris says. His voice picks up, because he loves talking about this and apparently he’s found someone that loves hearing about it, too. “I was Kurt in The Sound of Music, and I was in A Christmas Story and - I even did a gender-swapped Sweeney Todd. Shirley Todd-” 

“No way! That’s fu- that’s freaking amazing, that’s so cool. Hey, you want to see some of the stuff my friends did in college? Do you like Harry Potter?” Mr. Criss is up out of the seat behind his desk in an instant. “Go to Youtube.” 

*

There’s something uncomfortable about the way that he feels about Mr. Criss. 

Chris is a person used to keeping a lid on things. He doesn’t like to expose too much. He was never the child that ran home and told his parents every accomplishment. He hasn’t cried to them about a school issue in years. 

He feels, and strongly, but it stays tucked down deep. Vulnerability feels dangerous to him, and it doesn’t matter if it’s a happy thing or a sad thing or a scared thing. 

When he walks into Mr. Criss’s classroom he feels like every stray thought in his mind is on display. He has to work too hard to not to smile or laugh at the things Mr. Criss says, not to seem too interested or lose himself in daydreams. 

He won’t be that kid mooning over the teacher. He knows he’s more observant than his classmates, but he’s too terrified that someone might catch on. 

He’s teased for enough things that he is and does that he can’t help. His modus operandi in the hallways of his high school has been to fly beneath the radar and just - try not to give anyone any extra reasons for shitting on him. 

Mr. Criss makes it hard, though. 

He’s too funny, too cute, tries too hard to engage Chris. He’s too friendly, more so than any other teacher Chris has ever had. He seems interested in Chris, and it’s probably just the pity thing, because he found Chris once after Chris got his ass kicked in a hallway, but… 

As much as Chris knows he doesn’t need it, he can’t help but enjoy someone giving a fuck. 

*

“Have you ever had a crush on someone?” Chris asks Hannah. 

He’s stretched out on her bed, both of them in pajamas. Her purple stuffed elephant is laying on his stomach and she’s chattering away as if the pink flamingo is holding a conversation with him. 

“Yeah,” Hannah says. “I like Mr. Rogers.” 

He laughs. “What’s the term for a male cougar?” 

She just gives him a confused look, and then moves on without inquiring. 

After a few more minutes she says, “Have you?” 

He thinks about Mr. Criss, the way he looks by the end of the day. Five o’clock shadow, rumpled, buttons half undone to show whatever undershirt or t-shirt he’s layered on top of. 

It makes his gut do funny things, flip-flopping like a fish out of water. 

“I don’t know,” Chris answers. “Maybe.” 

“Well, she better like you back,” Hannah says. “Or I’ll beat her up.” 

He smiles, but it doesn’t go past the surface, her words a stark reminder of more than one reality. 

*

“So are you gay?” 

His head jerks up and Chris drops his pencil. “What?”

Mr. Criss asks it in such a casual voice. “I asked if you were gay. If you’re not, cool. If you are-” 

“Then what?” Chris can’t help how guarded he sounds. 

Darren shrugs. “Then we could talk, or something. I mean, I’m just - trying to be a mentor, you know? Letting you know you’ve got someone you can come talk to.” 

“You mean - _you’re_ gay?” Chris gapes. 

The only out student at East Clovis is a butch lesbian that keeps getting suspended for starting fights. (There are plenty of closeted ones, Chris is sure; himself and his best friend Melissa, for starters.) 

There are no out teachers and, to Chris’s knowledge, there has never been one. 

“Uh, not-” Mr. Criss starts, and Chris feels his brief hopes momentarily plummet. “Not all the way. But, yeah, I mean. I’ve been with guys. I’ve dated guys. I’m equal opportunity.” 

Chris stares back down at the laptop in front of him. He makes his fingers move on the keys. He has no idea what to say, not a fucking clue. “Okay.” 

“Okay then,” Mr. Criss says. 

Chris can see out of his periphery that Mr. Criss keeps watching him for a few more seconds before he looks down at his own work again. 

*

The East Clovis band has a field trip to the San Francisco symphony. 

The school’s music department gets permission from the administration to open it up to Music Appreciation students, as well. 

Chris has no intention of going. San Francisco is only a three hour drive, but the show doesn’t start until eight pm. It’s an overnight trip, which is akin to the ninth circle of hell in Chris’s mind. 

He’ll do the same with this as he’s done for most school trips; just not mention them to his parents. 

Until it gets mentioned in the email blast the school sends out. Chris hadn’t even known that his mother read those, much less paid attention and remembered what classes he’s in. 

At least Mr. Criss is one of the chaperones. Chris manages to shove off dread by plotting in his mind how cool it would be to get to sit beside him for the show. 

*

Chris is paired with three other guys in the hotel room, and they make it obvious from the outset that his presence is something they’re putting up with. 

At nine pm bed checks happen. Mr. Criss sticks his head in the door, makes sure they’re all there, and then leaves. He grins at Chris a little and Chris just rolls his eyes. 

Mr. Criss knows how _little_ Chris has really been looking forward to this. 

As soon as Mr. Criss is gone, the other guys pull out bottles of beer wrapped up in clothes in their back. Chris tries his hardest to ignore them but the more they drink the louder they become. 

When they start graphically discussing which girls they’ve slept with he turns onto his side and faces the wall. 

The first time he hears the word _fag_ in a hushed voice he gets up and grabs his laptop. 

The guys don’t make any effort to hide that they’re looking at him, talking about him. One of them - a baseball player, not someone Chris has had any meaningful interaction with since around third grade - walks over to him and nudges his screen with a finger. “Looking at boners on there or something?” 

The other guys laugh uproariously. Yeah, it's all so hilarious, isn't it?

“Go away,” Chris mumbles, staring harder. It’s just his desktop background - a Ravenclaw house crest - but he doesn’t lift his eyes. 

The guy shoves harder at it. It snaps shut and Chris just barely pulls his fingers back. “Hey!” 

“Come on, queer. You’re being all anti-social. Don’t you want to hang with us?” 

“Naw, man. What if one of us passes out and he butt fucks us?” One of the other guys says. 

Chris’s face burns with humiliation. 

The third is laughing, but he doesn’t say anything. He’s in Chris’s biology class. Chris loaned him a pen once. They were partners on an essay. 

He wasn’t like this then, but around his friends - even if he’s not joining in, he’s still not standing up to them. 

It amazes Chris how people can be decent on their own, but put them in groups and they regress into mindless creatures of hate. 

He grabs his laptop bag and shoves his computer into it. None of them try to stop him as he leaves, but he can still hear them laughing. 

*

He walks around for maybe half an hour. 

It’s the first week of November, not exactly arctic temperatures but cool enough that he wishes he’d remembered to bring a jacket with him. He hadn’t even remembered shoes. 

This is like every school trip he’s ever been on, except worse. Overnight - he knew that would be bad. He realizes now it wasn’t worth it. His mother fussing and worrying over him, wanting to know why he hadn’t wanted to go - that would have been so much better. 

He’s circled the parking lot three times, music blasting in his ears. He’s numb to the cold now. The only thing on his mind is what those guys might be doing to his travel bag, back in the room. He’ll have to check everything over for suspicious stains or urine scent before he puts anything on. 

A car pulls into the parking lot as he nears the entrance. He huddles in closer to himself, hoping they don’t slow down. 

They do. He’s prepared to step back into the lobby until he sees who it is. 

“Fuck,” he says, under his breath. Of course it’s a teacher. Of course it’s that teacher. 

And just because no wound is complete without a healthy dose of salt, he’s not alone. When the car stops Chris can see past him to the driver… a very attractive woman. 

Mr. Criss calls out, as soon as the window is down. “Hey, I don’t think you’re supposed to be- Chris?”

“Just out for a walk,” Chris says, hoping he’ll buy it. 

No such luck. “I think you guys are supposed to stay in your rooms.” 

Mr. Criss says something to his companion that Chris can’t hear, and then gets out of the car. He jogs over to Chris and Chris tries to pretend like he’s not very, very attracted to Mr. Criss dressed in casual jeans and a t-shirt. There’s something just - looser about him, more relaxed than Chris has ever seen, even as he asks,“So you want to tell me what’s really going on?” 

“Underage drinking and casual homophobia,” Chris says, because - fuck it. Why should he lie for those guys? 

Mr. Criss looks upset. Not just unhappy - not like it’s an inconvenience - but upset. “They told me to do random spot checks. I wasn’t gonna, but I can go bust them if you want me to?”

“If I want you to?” Chris asks. “Shouldn’t you do that anyway? They have alcohol.”

Mr. Criss shrugs. “Like teenagers don’t do that shit. The drinking, I mean. As long as they aren’t bringing down the building, I don’t really give a fuck. But if they’re pulling that dumbass homophobic shit with you - that’s worth the effort. I might could even get them suspended.” 

It’s probably the sweetest thing anyone has ever said to them. Chris looks away, smiling. 

“They’d just make school more miserable for me when they came back.” As much as he likes the idea, it’s just not worth it. “But, thank you. Can I just sleep on the bus tonight or something?” 

“No way,” Mr. Criss says, shaking his head. “I can’t let you do that.”

“Well, what can you let me do, then?” Chris snaps back. 

He should feel guilty, but he doesn’t. It’s not like Mr. Criss is that intimidating a figure, anyway. 

“I can report them, or I can go grab one of the other teaches and see about swapping you for the night.” Mr. Criss is still looking at him and suddenly Chris feels the embarrassment hit him hard. 

This wasn’t so bad if no one _knew_. 

Now Mr. Criss is going to tell people. People never keep things secret. Everyone will know. 

“I just - no. I’d rather not. I can… call my mom, or something.” It puts a knot in his stomach. But he remembers what they said, and he’s not sure what they’d do to him if he tried to sleep anyway. 

“Really? Is it that bad?” Mr. Criss looks really concerned now, and Chris realizes that wasn’t the right thing to say at all. 

“No.” He forces the word out and tries to sound like he means it. “I’ll just go back. Maybe they’ll have passed out by now or something.” 

Chris can always just leave again if Mr. Criss insists on walking him back or something. He doubts he will, though. 

He glances over at the car, still running. The girl inside looks like she’s doing something on his phone. Yeah, Mr. Criss seems to have better plans. 

Or at least Chris thinks, until Mr. Criss speaks again. 

“Why don’t you come hang out in my room?” Mr. Criss asks. “I’m the only guy chaperoning, I’ve got a single.” 

“But you’ve got-” He looks dumbly at the car. 

“Yeah, hold on.” Mr. Criss reaches out and squeezes his shoulder then walks back over to the car. He leans down and something to the driver. When he straightens back up and steps away, he’s waving and she’s driving away. Then he turns back to Chris and says, “Coming?”

It sounds a hell of a lot better than going back to his own room. Chris nods and grabs his bag. 

*

Chris laughs when he walks in. “How did you as one person make more of a mess than four teenage boys?” 

It’s true, too. Clothes are strewn everywhere, one of the beds is totally messed up, a guitar is propped against a wall, and a bag of chips open on the unmade bed. 

“Uhhh.” Mr. Criss shrugs. “College habits die hard.” 

“Did you live in a dorm?” Chris asks. 

He’s been increasingly curious about college in general lately. He doesn’t really think he’ll get much better than a community college near him, but there’s a little part of him that wishes he could go to a real university. 

His family isn’t poor by any means, but insurance only covers so much and Hannah requires so much more than even that. 

“I shared an apartment with some friends of mine. Hey, sit down.” Mr. Criss flops onto the bed and pats the spot beside him. “We can find something to watch.” 

Chris tries to get comfortable - which is difficult, because he is the epitome of uncomfortable. 

Mr. Criss notices. He laughs, and Chris is aware that he’s being laughed at, but it’s not an unkind thing. “Hey. Come on. Relax. Stay a while.” 

“Are you going to deduct points if I don’t, Mr. Criss?” Chris makes a show of rolling his eyes, but he does and he feels better than. 

“Maybe. At least if you don’t drop the Mr. Criss. Just call me Darren, okay?” Mr. Criss says. 

“I - really?” Chris is in slight disbelief. 

“Yeah. Feels weird being called Mr. Criss all the time. Makes me think of… of my dad.” Darren’s smile goes briefly tight and then it’s like he shakes it off. “I mean, don’t do it in class or anything, that’d be weird. But when it’s just us hanging out?”

They’re _hanging out_. 

Chris can’t remember the last time he hung out with anyone besides Hannah, and once and a while Melissa, though they’ve lost touch this past year when she got a girlfriend. “Okay. _Darren._ ” 

“Thanks. _Chris_.” Darren winks at him. It’s teasing, but it doesn’t hurt at all. It just makes him feel warm inside. 

Chris settles in more against the pillow behind him. He looks straight ahead at the TV and tries to hide how pleased he is. 

*

“Oh shit, best part!” Darren shouts, reaching out and grabbing Chris’s arm. “This right, here - look when he-” 

Darren (and it’s not hard for Chris to switch to calling him that, not when Chris has been so illicitly doing it in his mind for weeks now) can’t even finish the sentence, he’s laughing so hard. Chris is laughing just as hard, tears in his eyes, leaning forward so far he’s almost doubled over. 

“I can’t believe you’ve never seen Jackass.” Darren wipes at his cheeks. “This is like the best shit. In college, me and my friends used to try some of these-” 

“Oh my god, how are you _alive_ -” Chris gasps. 

“Dude, do _not_ ask me, I don’t even know.” Darren flops back against the headboard again. They’re both still sitting up but moving around and laughing has brought them shoulder to shoulder. 

Chris should be tired but he’s not at all. He feels almost like _he’s_ the one drunk, not the idiots he’s supposed to be sharing a room with. 

“Couldn’t you get in trouble for this?” He asks, suddenly. 

Darren’s laughter stops abruptly. “Uh - yeah. I mean. Yeah, but if you don’t tell anyone - we’re not doing anything wrong, right?” 

He sounds so doubtful, like he’s genuinely asking Chris. 

“No, of course not,” Chris says. 

He wishes he hadn’t mentioned it at all. He doesn’t even know why he did. 

“Do you want to go back to your room now?” Darren asks. “I’ll walk you. Do one of those spot checks.” 

“Can I stay here?” Chris asks. 

He thinks he knows what the answer is, so he’s surprised when Darren smiles and says, “Sure.” 

*

He sleeps on the other bed, wiggled in between a stale smelling duvet and too-tightly tucked hotel sheets. 

The lights are off but moonlight filters through cheap blinds. 

He looks through half-shut eyes, hoping that he’s feigning sleep well enough, as Darren goes into the bathroom. He blushes to hear the sound of Darren pissing, biting his lip. It’s not like he’s turned on by the act, but the intimacy of hearing it is - exhilarating. 

He’s still watching when Darren gets back into his bed. He yawns loudly, grunts a little, and then seems to drop quickly into sleep. 

Chris tucks his head down into the pillow. Sleep takes longer to come, but mostly because he fights it, wanting to memorize the steady rumble of Darren’s breathing. 

*

Darren wakes him up just before dawn. “Hey, look. You should probably head back to your room now.” 

Chris is entirely unprepared for how his world tilts at the sight of Darren, sleep rumbled and stubble on his jaw, t-shirt worn and clinging to him. He makes an incomprehensible noise of muted shock and confusion. 

“Up.” Darren laughs, hand still rubbing up and down Chris’s arm. Forget morning wood, he’s bordering on steel bar territory now. 

It’s work to keep his hips from jolting against the mattress. There’s no way he can get up like this. He doesn’t even want to. Shit, if Darren keeps touching him, he might just come from that alone. 

“Okay,” he mumbles, the words Darren said actually sinking in. 

Darren laughs again, and then gets up. Chris shoves a hand under the blanket to press against his dick. Predictably, this helps nothing. 

He manages to get himself up, glad he put his laptop bag on this side of the bed. He grabs it and positions it conveniently in front of him, fleeing as quickly as he can. 

*

They make it home the following afternoon. 

“How was it?” His mother asks, after hugging him hello. 

Chris thinks about the mocking, the embarrassment, the fear. 

He thinks about laughing with Darren, finishing off that bag of chips at one in the morning, waking to his voice. 

“It was awesome. Thank you for making me go,” he says, and how happy she looks to hear it is just icing on the cake. 

*

When Mr. Criss announces a chance for extra credit, everyone leaps. 

When he says that it will involve giving up every other Saturday for the rest of the year, the number of people interested dwindles down to single digits. 

When he adds that students will also have to be at the school at seven am to participate, suddenly Chris finds himself one of three students, which makes him feel insanely awkward. Being part of a group of a dozen or more and getting to peripherally enjoy extra time in the presence of Mr. Criss had seemed a little creepy but nothing too bad. 

The idea of so much of Mr. Criss’s attention focused on him and only him is daunting, though. It’s appealing, of course, but at the same time it feels like something that will only lead to disappointment down the road. 

The extra credit project involves volunteering with Mr. Criss at a music program for children of low income families that can’t afford private music lessons. Mr. Criss instructs the actual lessons himself, of course. Chris and the two students he’s with are essentially there to help set up a classroom to be kind and friendly, pull the instruments they use out of storages, lay out cookies and fruit and juice on snack tables, clean up, and babysit when Darren needs one on one time with a student. 

Chris wouldn’t describe himself as overly fond of children, but living with his sister has instilled him with patience that his classmates lack. The five hours pass quickly and Chris is surprised at how much he actually enjoys it.

It’s just the feeling of accomplishment, he tells himself. It has nothing to do with the way Darren smiled at him as they said goodbye.

*

Darren catches him on Friday, grabbing his arm as he’s about to walk out. “Hey, did you actually like volunteering last week?” 

“I did,” Chris answers. 

“Yeah, good. You looked like you were having fun. I know I said every other week and I’m letting people pick which two Saturdays a month they want to come, but I just wanted to let you know - if you want to come every time that’s cool with me. I can’t give you any more good grades for it but if you just want to…” Darren looks at him hopefully. 

Chris doesn’t even really have to think about it. He smiles and says, “Okay. I’ll be there.”

Volunteering becomes the highlight of the week. 

His mother is thrilled. She says it will look good on his college applications. Chris doesn’t have the heart to say to her that his grades aren’t exactly going to get him into any universities that even require extra curriculars. 

It only takes another two weeks for the other two students to stop coming. 

Chris almost drops it himself, but the disappointed frown on Mr. Criss’s face when the other classmate just doesn’t show up one morning stops him. 

And Chris does enjoy it. It’s not like there’s that much one on one time, really only the few minutes when they’re setting the chairs up and pulling out the instruments. 

Chris starts to think of him as _Darren_ again in those private moments, though. It feels too awkward to say it so he just avoids addressing him at all except when he has to, and in front of the kids he knows without having to be told to use Mr. Criss.

*

Darren likes to talk. He likes to ask questions, he likes to learn things - and people, Chris comes to realize. 

It's usually innocuous, but between the grading sessions and the Saturday music lessons, suddenly there’s more conversation than Chris could have expected. 

"So you like to read?" Darren asks. 

Chris shrugs. "Depends." 

Darren glances up from what the sheet music booklets he's flipping through, looking amused by the answer. "On what?" 

"If I like a book I'll read it five times in a year," Chris says. "But then I usually won't read much else." 

"Okay, so what's your last five-times book?" 

"Harry Potter." Chris pauses, then admits. "Okay, that's pretty much the only thing I read."

"Okay, dude, if you're reading the entire series five times a year then you wouldn't have time to read anything else," Darren says, laughing. 

" _Dude_?" Chris smirks before he can remember not to. 

"Hey, now." 

"What?" Chris feigns innocence. "It's just not very teacherly." 

"I'm off the clock." Darren props his feet up on a chair. "So, Harry Potter."

"That's what I said." Chris pauses then adds. " _Dude._ " 

Darren laughs loudly. "So you like the books better than the movies?" 

Chris shrugs. "I don't like one better than the other." 

"Aw, you gotta have a favorite." 

"Why? Is one going to magically stop existing if I answer with the other?" Chris pulls the last chair in place with a screech across the floor. 

"So what I gather from this is that you aren't a big fan of hypothetical?" 

Chris hasn't really thought of it like that before but it doesn't take him long to answer with a decisive, "No. I like reality. Unless-" 

"Unless what?" 

"Unless." Chris walks over to the row of instruments and starts to straighten them, although they don't need straightening at all. "Unless it's a fairy tale." 

"So you like happily ever afters?" Darren asks, voice gone soft in a way that Chris finds enchantingly dangerous. 

Then the door opens and children start to flood in. 

*

"So, fairy tales?" 

It's a week later. 

Chris jumps and lets out a curse that seems much louder than he'd intended. "You shouldn't sneak up on people. Also, you're late." 

Darren just laughs. "Yeah, sorry. I slept in." 

"Rough night?" Chris asks. 

It's only after he's asked that he realizes it might be a step too personal. Darren doesn't seem phased, though. 

"You could say that." He smirks a little and rubs a hand over his face. 

The sight of Darren's fingers against his cheek with that slightly impish smile does things to Chris that Chris really doesn't need to think too much about, or he'll have to excuse himself to the bathroom. That's really not a good idea because approximately every two minutes one of these kids has to pee and with Chris's luck he'd get walked in on jerking off by an eight year old and that's just not a situation that would end well for anyone involved. 

"Earth to Colfer?" 

Chris jumps again. 

"Okay, you have no excuse that time, you knew I was right here." Darren has his phone out and he keeps talking while he looks down at it, typing something. "Can you pull the books with Phantom of the Opera stuff in them?" 

"Really? For these kids?" Chris asks. 

Darren looks up from his phone, one eyebrow lifted. "Questioning my judgement? Hey, I am the teacher here, remember..."

Chris rolls his eyes. "You're off the clock." 

Darren slides his phone back into his pocket and laughs. 

*

And then one day, as they’re packing up: 

“Hey, you want to have lunch?" Darren asks. 

Chris almost drops the books in his hand. "What?" 

"I was meeting a buddy of mine but he just bailed." Darren is at the desk at the front of the room, digging through his messenger bag. He carries it with him everywhere and Chris has glimpsed the inside often enough by now to realize that it's just a shoved in mass of papers, pens, and random paperclips and gum packets. "I got this kickass recipe for a Thai curry and I bought all the shit to make it last night, but it's way too much for one person." 

"You cook?" 

"You sound surprised." Darren grins, popping some gum into his mouth. "Come on. You can ride with me, I only live a couple miles away. I'll bring you back to your car after we eat." 

It's on the tip of Chris's tongue to say no just because the idea of going is slightly terrifying, but in the end curiosity and temptation win. 

*

“You play the piano?” Chris asks, looking over at the large upright in the corner of the room. It looks out of place in such a tiny apartment. 

Darren just grins. “Sure do.” 

Without Chris even needing to prompt him, Darren is up and taking a seat on the bench. He starts playing something Chris has never heard before, the piano melody filling the room. 

Playing changes Darren. It’s not like he’s not always himself, but he seems more himself right now. The lines of laughter in his face ease and smooth out and the space is filled with something else. 

Then Darren starts to sing. 

It’s not soft and sweet, it’s - thick, his voice is thick with emotion, and his face is screwed up in an expression that is more ridiculous than attractive. But it gets under Chris’s skin, the words of the song, and his eyes burn. 

Halfway through he gets up and goes to the bathroom. 

The music stops, but Darren gives him the couple of minutes he needs to pull himself back together. 

He walks back into the living room. “Sorry.” 

Darren is still sitting on the piano bench. He just shrugs. “No problem. Want something to drink?” 

Chris hesitates, then nods. “Sure.” 

*

Darren cooks, and Chris sits on a stool by his kitchen bar watching.

"Are you sure I can't help?" Chris asks for the third time. 

"Oh, fine." Darren sighs dramatically. "Come chop some shit." 

"If that's actually an ingredient in your curry, do I still have time to change my mind about accepting this invitation?" Chris asks dryly. 

Darren's caught off guard by the joke. He laughs so hard he has to turn away and stop stirring. "Fuck you, man. My curry is awesome." 

"And shit-free?" 

"And shit-free," Darren confirms. He slides an eggplant over to Chris. 

"How big?" Chris asks. 

Darren opens his mouth instantly but then shuts it, shaking his head a little at himself. "Uh, chunks. Couple inches? We need like three cups worth." 

"Got it." Chris starts off and does one to demonstrate, showing it to Darren to get his approval. 

They work in silence together, Darren doing most of it but Chris chopping and measuring the eggplant, then the onions and chili. 

Twenty minutes pass and then Darren steps back, wiping his hands on his pants. "Now we wait for delicious things to happen." 

*

It’s surreal. 

Darren’s stripped off his button up and cardigan and he’s wearing a soft gray t-shirt. He’s barefoot. 

Chris is in the living room of his music teacher, and they’re both barefoot. They’re barefoot and Darren is just _talking_ to him, like Chris is some normal person. 

Lots of people talk to Chris, in a lot of different ways. His mother in that tired, warmly familiar voice. His father quietly, and usually with purpose. His sister, that hero-worship inherent in everything she says and does. His classmates with derision, his teachers with impatience or pity, the lunch ladies with fond concern. 

But none of them just stop and talk to him, like there’s no particular purpose behind it. None of them just have this kind of random conversation on even footing. Darren coaxes thoughts and opinions from him. His face lights up when Chris says something he agrees with, and he gets that excited frenetic energy when he disagrees and wants to prove his own point. 

When Chris says something funny that makes him laugh, he does it with his whole body. Chris blushes every time it happens, but if Darren notices he doesn’t say anything. 

Five thirty comes too quickly, but his mother always wants him home for dinner. 

* 

"So what do you want for the future?" Darren asks him, the next week. 

It's such an easy question and it's not one that Chris has an answer to. 

It's not that he doesn't know. He does. Chris has dreams for the future. He has dreams for himself, for his life. 

He dreams about being a best selling novelist. He dreams about one of those dead-end auditions he’s gone on actually panning out. Maybe whoever they cast gets hit by a falling piano and their name zeroes in on him and he sweeps in to save the day and gets a Hollywood makeover that strips him of ten pounds, makes his skin clear, gives him muscle and five inches of height. 

The person that he sees, the lead role in these dreams - it’s not even really him. 

What he sees when the dreams fall away is more stark. 

Chris likes reality. He doesn't like hypothetical. He doesn't see the point in investing himself in all those dream scenarios that he doesn't think will ever come true. 

He won't have a happily ever after. Instead he'll have community college, a part time job. Maybe living on campus, hopefully saving for his own place. 

So that's what he goes with. "CCC and then get an apartment somewhere next year." 

Darren looks at him with a frown. "That's it?" 

Chris shrugs. "Is there something wrong with that? Not everyone can change the world. Average is average because that's what most people are." 

"Nah, man, just..." Darren is still looking at him like he's troubled and Chris wants to shy away from it. He's much quieter when he says. "Guess you're right."

Sad. 

Darren sounds sad. 

"We need more paper towels," Chris says, though the stack on the table is probably enough to last as long as they don't have any spills. He doesn't wait for Darren to answer, just walks away and heads for the supply room. 

*

He and Darren don't talk again until the lessons are over and the room is cleared. 

"You want to come over?" Darren asks, lingering in the doorway. 

"I... I can't," Chris says. "If you meant now? Like for lunch? I can't, I have to go pick my sister up from a thing she's at. I told my mom I would. I..."

"Oh, no big deal." Darren slides his hands into his pockets, but he still doesn't walk away. "That gonna take all day? The thing with your sister?" 

"Um - no?" 

Darren grins faintly. "You asking me?" 

"No," Chris says more firmly. "It's not. I just have to pick her up and take her back home. My dad's home, so I don't have to stay there - she just can't be alone, she's..." 

Chris doesn't really talk about his sister much. 

"She's what?" Darren asks, curiously. 

"She just needs a little extra attention." Chris's tone doesn't invite more questions. 

Darren just nods. "You want to come by after that, then?" 

"Really?" Chris begins to wonder what exactly is going on, what he missed. "Why?" 

"Because... you're a cool guy. And it's the weekend, I don't have any plans. I'm guessing you don't either?" Darren asks it with such a lack of judgement that Chris isn't even offended by the (entirely correct) assumption. "So come over. We'll hang." 

"Okay," Chris says. 

They'll _hang_. Because students and teachers, they hang all the time. 

Right. 

*

Chris standing in Darren’s living room, staring at him.

He'd texted twenty minutes ago saying he was on his way, but Darren hadn't responded. 

He hadn't answered when Chris had knocked, either. The door was unlocked, so Chris had just walked in. 

"Hi?" Chris stands, awkwardly, still not comfortable enough to just invite himself in and sit down. 

Darren jerks and then groans a little, rubbing his eyes. He's on the couch and he looks like he's been asleep. 

"Fuck, man. What time is it?" Darren asks, voice thick. 

"Four-thirty," Chris answers. He pauses and then adds, "In the afternoon." 

Darren laughs, slightly delirious sounding. "Yeah. I got that part." 

"Sorry..." Chris trails off when he notices the glass with a quarter inch of whiskey in it. He's pretty sure it's whiskey, given that there is also a half empty bottle clearly labeled whiskey beside the glass. 

Those keen powers of deduction have always served him well. 

“Are you drunk?” He blurts out. 

Darren looks over at the glass, grunts, and then knocks back the rest of what's in it. "Nah. But I could be. You want some?" 

Chris shakes his head. "Do you want me to go?" 

"What? Oh, no, man. Sorry. I'm being weird today. Come on, sit down. You like pizza? I could fucking murder a meat lovers right now." 

"I like pizza," Chris says. 

He doesn't sit down. 

Darren finally stops and just looks over at him. "Am I freaking you out?" 

"A little bit," Chris admits. 

"Sorry. Seriously, sorry. It's just - it's been a long week. I get a little crazy when I'm on my own too much. I'm like this weird energy leech with my friends, I just need - noise and people. I need to be around people, and I feel like... this town is just like... it's _empty_. You know? There's no energy here. How do people do it?" 

"I don't know," Chris says. He finally sits, folding one leg under him and resting with his back against the arm of the couch, facing Darren. "But you're right. This place is soul sucking. If places could be dementors, Clovis would be." 

"Yeah!" Darren's face goes bright. "Yeah. And I keep looking around, thinking like, I'm just missing it, you know? There's more to it here and I just don't see it? Because places aren't - places are made up of the people that live there, and there's gotta be people everywhere - that I can connect to. I've always been that guy, I make friends with everyone, but here, it's just like-" 

"You don't have any friends here?" Chris finds it hard to imagine, but not as hard as it would have been a couple months ago. Mr. Criss has been slowly and steadily making the transition in Chris's mind, the move from plastic teacher-shaped person made only of a name and a subject and mannerisms contained in a classroom to Darren, to a real person, who couldn't possibly be contained by anything. "So why are you here?" 

Darren slumps back against the couch again and looks up at the ceiling. "So. Hey. Pizza." 

* 

They do order pizza. 

Chris's mother calls once, and it's a little awkward but he tells her he's with a friend and he feels Darren's eyes on him and when he hangs up the phone Darren is smiling. 

Darren pours himself another drink and manages to talk Chris into trying it. He laughs at the sour twist to Chris's mouth at the taste, but it's not quite so bad on ice and when Darren mixes it with soda it's not actually that bad at all. 

Chris only has one drink but it leaves him pleasant and warm and a little bit braver. 

Darren puts a movie on, and they sit shoulder to shoulder watching it for the first few minutes. 

Maybe the whiskey makes him a little too brave because Chris finds himself asking again. "So why are you here?" 

"Because. Because I have to be. Stuck here in this fucking town, stuck all day in a classroom with four fucking walls that feel like they're closing in on me every day I have to show up there." 

The starkness to his voice, the stripped down way he says it, makes Chris ache. If Chris's own thoughts had a narrative voice besides his own, that's what they'd sound like. 

“But you chose to be a teacher,” Chris says. He doesn’t understand how someone could fall into an entire career they had to get a degree for without realizing they didn’t like it. 

“No, it was like - I was fucking set, I was going to Michigan, I was gonna be a theater major. I was going to make it in Hollywood.” Darren digs his palms into his eyes, rubbing. “I was good, too. I was gonna make it. I know it.” 

The last few words are a plaintive whine. “Then why didn’t you?” 

“My dad died.” Darren drops his head against the back of the couch and stares up at the ceiling. “My first semester of college. Heart attack. My mom, she never worked - she was on the board of like a zillion charity things and counsels and shit, but she didn’t have a real job. Dad had a lot of money, but his business partner fucked us out of most of it. We just couldn’t - they were gonna support me, while I was in college and afterward until I figured some shit out, but then Dad died and… the money wasn’t there. Mom wanted to still, she didn’t want to feel like I wasn’t following my dreams, but I couldn’t do that to her.” 

He sounds more and more desperate the more he talks, even a little choked up. 

Chris has no idea what to say. He feels so out of his depth. “So you became a teacher instead?”

Darren shrugs. “Yeah, I thought - music is my passion. Why not share that passion? It’s not what I thought it would be, though. No one fucking _cares_. I’m not teaching anyone anything, I’m just filling space and giving them reasons to bitch. Even the ones that do every assignment are just doing it for a grade, they just want - that one girl, the redhead? Amy or whatever? She came to me and asked if she could do more papers for extra credit, and I thought - shit okay one of them is interested, one of them wants to _learn_ , but. She didn’t. She just went off on this bullshit thing about scholarships and law school and extra curriculars. I just want… I wanted to be changing people’s lives.” 

“You’re changing mine,” Chris says. 

He doesn’t even mean to. The words just come out, because his heart is in his throat and oh, god, how he _means_ it. 

Darren blinks at him, eyes wet with tears that lingered and pooled caught in his lashes. He sounds very young when he asks, “Really?” 

It might not have anything to do with music, but it’s far from a lie. Chris reaches across the space between them and grabs Darren’s hand. “Really.”

Darren scoots over closer to Chris and puts his head on Chris’s shoulder. “It’s so tough. To just stand there, every day, in front of all those blank faces.” 

Chris feels a stab of guilt; he is one of those blank faces. It’s something he actively works toward. 

He gingerly lifts an arm and puts it around Darren. He’s not sure where the bravery comes from. Darren just makes him feel safe. 

Darren seems to take it as an invitation, curling himself into Chris. 

“If you hate it that much,” Chris asks. “Why are you still doing it?” 

“What else am I gonna do?” There’s another sniffle, a louder, ruder kind of sound that almost makes Chris want to laugh. “My brother moved here when our dad died. His wife - they got married a couple years ago - her whole family is from Fresno. Chuck wanted to go to New York, but. We kept talking about it, and kept dancing around plans and shit, and Chuck just - he told me he wasn’t going to New York, even though he’s wanted to his whole fucking life. And I couldn’t… I couldn’t.”

“He gave up his dreams, so you did, too?” Chris whispers. 

Darren shrugs. “It didn’t seem that bad.” 

“Why here, though? Clovis is nowhere. You could have at least taught in a bigger city somewhere… you still could.” The idea of Darren going somewhere else is unsettling to Chris, but the idea that Darren is that miserable here is even more so. 

“My brother and his wife, they had a baby last year. My mom moved to Fresno to be near her grandkid. When I graduated I just felt… I don’t know. Like I didn’t have an anchor.” Darren flails one hand out. “So I floated here. It started out with mom saying I could live with her while I tried to find a job, and then I just…” 

“Floated,” Chris repeats. 

“Yeah. I floated. And then one of mom’s friends was on the board of education, and that lady had the stroke-” 

“Mrs. Reinhardt,” Chris says faintly. 

“Yeah, her. She stroked out and I landed a job and…” Darren shrugs. “Here I am. Clovis.”

“I’m sorry,” Chris says. He rubs his hand up and down Darren’s arm and tries not to think about how he’s just _casually touching an attractive man_. This is not even remotely the kind of situation he should be turned on by. 

“Do you think I’ll like it better the more I do it?” Darren asks. “Am I just not getting something right? Am I not a good teacher?” 

“You’re a better teacher than anyone in that school,” Chris says. He’s surprised by the fierceness of his loyalty to Darren suddenly. “But you shouldn’t have to do something you don’t like.” 

“So what are you gonna do when you graduate?” He asks. 

“Community college, I guess,” Chris says. “I’d like to act, but I need people to hire me for that. My agent says I’m just not that charismatic-” 

“Okay, stop right there. Because you are so fucking charismatic, okay? You made me want to get to know you the second I laid eyes on you. So it’s not, no, you don’t get to think that, okay? If you want to act, you should go for it. Don’t let anything get in your way.” 

“Like you did?” Chris says, prickling because - Darren makes it sound so easy. 

It’s not. It’s not easy at all. Rejection hurts. Not getting a part hurts. 

“Like I _didn’t_ do, yeah,” Darren sits up and turns to face Chris. “You have got the whole fucking world in front of you, okay? And you’re too amazing to let that slip by. Chris, you’re fucking brilliant, you’re talented and you’re one of the smartest people I’ve ever met. I love how you see the whole world, and I don’t want that to just be wasted. I don’t want you stuck in this town because you think that’s the only choice you’ve got. Because no one ever told you it wasn’t.” 

“What about you? Why aren’t _you_ trying to be more? Because you’re all that, too.” Chris pushes past his own nerves, at the part of him that wants to bite back the sincere compliments that run so deep they feel like raw vulnerability exposed. “I don’t like that you feel stuck here, too.” 

Darren stares at him, and Chris stares right back. The moment feels like lightning caught in the walls of a second, crackling and blindingly lit. Chris’s heart is pounding with what he’s revealing about himself and with the force of Darren’s belief in him. 

No one has ever sounded so passionate when they talked about him before. 

Then Darren smiles, and that’s even so much better. “So maybe I’ll get myself unstuck, too.” 

* 

It’s the week before Christmas, and Chris’s parents are off in Los Angeles with Hannah for a consultation with a specialist. 

They’re gone for the weekend, up and out early on the Friday of Chris’s last final. He feeds himself a breakfast of cold cereal and makes it to school early enough to avoid any of the harassment. 

Christmas break starts in mere hours, and everyone is a good mood. He doesn’t think he’s going to flunk anything, so _he’s_ in a good mood, too. 

Darren has candy canes on all their desks when they walk into class. He lets them open them and eat them all there. 

It’s amazing to Chris how little it takes to win the favor of students. He also has to laugh at the stack of presents that Darren gets, mostly by girls in too-short skirts and too-tight sweaters. 

He feels smug and pleased with himself. None of them have ever seen the inside of Darren’s house. None of them have spent the past three Saturdays hanging out and watching movies with him. None of them have heard him play the piano, baring his soul through his music. None of them have his phone number programmed into their phone. 

(Or maybe they do, but if they do it’s because it was on his syllabus not because Darren himself put it there.)

Maybe it’s that sense of personal pride that leads him to text Darren that night, in lieu of his usual weekend-alone pattern of ordering pizza and then jerking off to porn with the volume blasting until his palms are raw. 

_To: DC  
I think I’m going to watch Jackass 2. _

_To: Chris  
LOL good man it’s a good movie _

_To: DC  
What are you doing tonight? _

_To: Chris  
I’m having a party!!! College friends showed up they’re fucking awesome they totally surprised me _

_To Chris:  
Want to come over? _

He barely even has to consider it before he responds with a yes. 

*

Chris has never even been to a party before. 

He wears jeans and a t-shirt, because what else does he have to wear? He stands in his mother’s bathroom and uses her hairspray to make his hair stay when he brushes it up. 

He hates how young he looks. He hates how chubby and pink his cheeks are. He hates it, and he thinks of how grown up Darren looks, how grown up Darren is, and hates it even more. 

But Darren likes him. Darren invited him to a party. He didn’t have to do that, but he’s giving Chris his first taste of all those teenage cliches he’d thought he was just destined to miss out on. 

He checks his hair one more time and then leaves. 

* 

A cute girl with long, blonde-streaked hair answers the door. “Hey! Oh my God, Darren, you didn’t say what a cutie-patootie he is!” 

She gets nudges out of the way and there’s Darren - glassy-eyed, beaming at Chris. “What? Come on, don’t make him sound like he’s a five year old. He’s… ruggedly handsome, aren’t you, Chris?” 

Darren slings an arm around his shoulder. He smells strongly of booze, but Chris couldn’t care less, because he’s being voluntarily touched by the guy he’s pining after. 

“Yeah, right,” Chris laughs. 

“Ohmygod his voice is cute too, Darren, Darren, can I keep him? Can I take him home?” 

Chris finds himself jerked right out from under Darren’s arm and squashed against her. It’s impressive considering she’s at least half a foot shorter than he is. Her heels help make up the difference. 

Darren carefully regains possession of Chris, who begins to feel like a piece on a game board. 

He doesn’t at all mind being slotted in beside Darren again, though, so he’s not about to complain. 

“This garden gnome is Lauren.” Darren says, reaching out with the arm not casually around Chris to flick the cottonball end of her cheap green felt hat. “Lauren, this is Chris. He’s my favorite.” 

Chris blushes and looks over at Darren. “I’m your favorite?” 

Darren leans in so close that Chris can almost taste what he’s drinking. “Duh.” 

Behind them, Lauren kind of… cooes. 

Which is weird. 

But Chris doesn’t even care. 

“Can we give him shots?” She asks, grabbing an arm from each of them and tugging. “He needs shots.” 

“Uh-” Chris isn’t at all sure how he feels about his first drunken experience being in front of someone he wants to impress. 

Darren must sense this - or at least the hesitation part - because he looks at Chris and then says. “No shots! But we can get him a drink he can take his time with. If he wants. I gotta be responsible. I’m a teacher.”

“I’ll believe in when I see it,” Lauren says, and then the subject is lost because she’s led them into a room with half a dozen other people all laughing at talking. “You guys! This is CHRIS! Chris needs a drink!” 

“Is he even old enough-” Someone, one of the taller guys, starts to say. 

Someone else shoulder checks him. “Like you weren’t guzzling bottom shelf vodka like it was mother’s milk from the time you could drive.” 

Which starts some kind of weird debate about mother’s milk and Chris is just not paying that close attention to anything that isn’t Darren beside him. 

“Come on,” Darren says, guiding him over to a makeshift bar. “We’ll go easy on you, since you’re a beginner. I know I corrupted you with whiskey but you want to try something else this time?” 

“Um - sure,” Chris agrees.

“Awesome.” Darren shoots him a grin that lets Chris know that was the right answer. “You like Diet Coke, right? And - rum, maybe? Ooh, coconut rum. You’ll like it. Tastes like candy.” 

Chris watches him pour into a red plastic cup and then drop a pink straw in. 

“Okay,” Darren says. “Tell me what you think. And if you don’t like it, we’ll just make you something new.” 

Chris takes a sip. It’s strong, but not nearly as bad as he’d been fearing. It could have tasted like turpentine and Chris would have still faked it, just because Darren made it. 

“I like it,” he says, smiling more widely at the pleased surprise on Darren’s face. 

*

He likes it so much that he has four, and by the time’s on the fourth one he can’t even really taste it anymore. 

He’s squashed on the couch with three other people while Darren plays guitar, singing so loudly that Chris is surprised none of his neighbors have complained. 

Maybe this just means they have good taste. Darren is _amazing_. His neighbors should just consider themselves lucky. 

When Darren is finished he lowers his guitar to the floor and leans forward, grinning ear to ear. “What did you think?” 

It takes Chris a few seconds to realize Darren is just talking to him. “You’re so good,” he says. 

“Joey’s turn.” Darren announces, handing his guitar over. 

“There’s never a shortage of people wanting to sing and play,” Lauren whispers to him. “They’re all fucking assholes.” 

“I heard that.” 

Chris jumps, not having realized that Darren had walked around behind them until he’s leaning against the back of the sofa. 

His face is very, very close to Chris’s. 

“I don’t care if you heard that,” Lauren says, sticking her tongue out at him. 

Darren reaches out and ruffles her hair. “I don’t care if you don’t care.” 

“I don’t care-” She starts laughing soo hard to finish it. “Shit. Fuck. I’m drunk.” 

“Shit. Fuck. You are.” Darren keeps mocking her, pestering her until she finally gets up, ceding defeat and needing a new drink. 

Darren hops over the back of the couch and suddenly he’s right beside Chris. 

Lauren stops and glares at him. “That was your plan all along, wasn’t it? You just wanted my spot.” She points a wobbly, accusatory finger at him. 

Darren gives her a charming smile and slings his arm over the back of the couch behind Chris. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

* 

Chris walks in on a discussion between Joey and Darren in the kitchen. 

He wants water. His head feels woozy and people keep putting drinks in his hand. His only current goal is to not puke anywhere in Darren’s house. 

He’s not really there yet, to the puking point, he doesn’t think - but he’s heard those stories from his classmates. He doesn’t want to _get_ there. 

Instead he finds them speaking in heated voices, probably not as quiet as they think they’re being. 

“Ricky said if you just come meet-” Joey spots Chris and stops. “Hey, man!” 

Darren turns, a little wobbly. He grabs the countertop to steady himself. “Chris! I thought I lost you!” 

“I was outside,” Chris says. “With - Charlene?”

Darren beams. “She’s amazing, isn’t she? Gotta get her to jam with me later.” 

They’re all amazing. Darren is amazing _with_ them. He’s not remotely the person Chris spends an hour watching every day. It’s like someone fed the colors back into him. 

“What about you?” Joey asks. “Do you sing?” 

“Um.” Chris blinks. “Choir? When I was younger. But I don’t - enjoy it.” 

“Damn. That’s a shame,” Joey says. He walks over to Chris and slings an arm around him, then leans in and whispers (not really whispering), “Darren really goes for-” 

“Uh whoa.” Darren makes some kind of strange, unreadable to Chris expression. “Joe, Joseph, buddy. Your mouth. Stop it.” 

“Dare, Darren, pal.” Joey’s not connecting some dots that he’s apparently supposed to be connecting, and his tone makes it evident. “Your face? Stop it?”

Darren walks over and grabs Chris by the hand. “Come on. Back outside.” 

*

“You want to crash here?” Darren asks. 

It’s half past three and Chris would be embarrassed about falling asleep, except that he can see people all around him doing the same. 

He is embarrassed that he’d been drifting off snuggled into Darren, head on Darren’s shoulder. 

“Okay.” He only lives twenty minutes away, but he doesn’t want to drive back this late or still drunk. The last thing he needs is to get in an accident and end up hurting someone. 

“Come on,” Darren takes his hand again. Chris is surprised to find himself being led down the hall to a little bedroom that he instantly knows is Darren’s, even though he’s never actually been in it. 

“Here?” Chris asks. 

Darren shrugs. He has a five o’clock shadow that Chris is fascinated with after seeing him clean shaven almost every day for school. The look on his face is tired and sweetly absent as he digs through a drawer. 

He tosses some pants at Chris. “I mean, not that those jeans don’t- um. Sorry. Drunk. They look good, but they look kind of tight to sleep in. Unless you just - want to.” 

“No, these jeans are kind of tight,” Chris admits. He slides a hand down his own thigh and catches Darren watching. 

“Yeah. I noticed.” Darren stands there, looking a little nervous and a lot tired. “Chris?”

“Yeah?” Chris waits. 

“If I do something - really dumb. Will you-”

“Do it,” Chris says, heart pounding. He doesn’t know what it is, but he knows what he wants it to be. “I want you to.”

Darren walks toward him. 

*

Chris figured this would happen, one day. He imagined his first kiss - maybe into his twenties, when he finally claws his way out of Clovis and lands somewhere a little less ignorant. 

He imagined himself taller and broader with a better body. He imagined himself with skin that doesn’t break out, imagined less chubby cheeks and sun-kissed skin. 

Strangely enough, he never imagined the guy. He was always too caught up in himself in the moment. That he could change into someone that a person would want to kiss was enough to tackle. That was the fantasy right there. 

It never seemed like a possibility that he’d be kissed while he was a teenager, before he even graduated high school. 

It certainly never occurred to him that he’d get his first kiss from a teacher, either, but that’s exactly what’s happening. 

Darren’s hands on his face feel warm and big and his tongue is wet and slick working into Chris’s mouth. Chris might be a little less active a participant but the kissing itself feels instinctive. Press, lick, suck, push. Warm and deep and then soft and light, hot damp breaths sucked in and released, sharing the breath between them. 

“Oh,” Chris gasps, a faint little sound, when Darren’s hand slides down to cup his neck. 

“You should.” Darren swallows, licks his lips, lets his forehead rest against Chris’s. “Get in bed.” 

“ _Oh_.” 

“Shit. Fuck. Alone.” Darren leans back, groaning. Chris watches the lines of tension on his face. “Unless-” 

Chris blushes all over, fingers clenching against the sleeve of Darren’s shirt. “Please…” 

“Fuck, don’t _do_ that,” Darren groans. 

Chris would probably do whatever Darren wanted him to do right now. He’d do it willingly, do it with awareness that’s dulled but not disappeared. But he’s not going to ask, isn’t even sure how to ask or what he’s asking for, and maybe Darren realizes that. Maybe that’s what helps Darren decide. 

Darren’s mouth presses into his again, quick and desperate. “Fuck, you beautiful man…” 

Chris is faint with it, thoroughly overwhelmed and he’s already craving more. “Please-” 

Darren moves back. “Not like this, okay? I’m an asshole, but not that much - not while you’re drunk.” 

Chris is almost as relieved as he is disappointed. His head is swimming and he smells Darren all around him, feels him too - tingling little pressure points everywhere they’ve touched, centered on his mouth. 

“Sleep in here,” Darren says. “I’ll be close if you need anything.”


	2. Chapter 2

Chris wakes up to the mattress dipping beside him. He doesn’t realize it at first, just knows that one second he’s blissfully asleep and the next moment awareness is making things blurry and just a tiny bit painful. 

His head is throbbing and his stomach rolls. 

He looks over and Darren is staring at him. 

He jumps and makes a shrieking sound he’s really not proud of, then clamps a hand over his mouth. Loud, ow, mistake. 

Darren laughs at him, deep and low and gravelly. “Come on, sleeping beauty. Time to get up.”

“No.” Chris throws a pillow but without much force, given that there are only a few inches between them. Darren catches it easily and shoves it under his head. 

Their eyes meet briefly. Chris looks quickly and then away, closing his eyes like he can burn that image into his brain. 

_I’m in bed with Mr. Criss._

_I’m in bed with_ Darren. 

Darren sits up. “Come downstairs when you’re ready.”

*

Chris goes by the bathroom. There’s no extra toothbrush so he makes liberal use of the mouthwash and splashes water over his face. 

He doesn’t linger too long in the mirror. His reflection has never particularly been his friend. 

He finds Darren sitting at the little kitchen table. “Where is everyone?”

“They went out for pancakes,” Darren says. “Hangover breakfast.”

“You didn’t go?” 

“I figured we needed to talk.” Darren looks at him and Chris’s stomach sinks. “I just can’t figure out what we’re supposed to be talking about.” 

“Oh.” Chris sits down opposite him, wincing at the scratch of the chair across cheap tile. “What you did last night - I liked it. I wanted it. So I’m not going to tell anyone or… or get you fired, or anything like that.” 

Darren does look relieved. “I thought you did - I mean. I thought I wasn’t the only one that, uh…” 

Chris smiles, just a little. “I’ve had a crush on you since the first week of class.” 

Darren just sort of nods. “I figured.” 

“Jeez. Modest much?” Chris rolls his eyes. 

Darren shrugs, looking a little more amused and a little more okay as Chris teases him. “Kissing you was dumb. Wanting to do it again is _really_ dumb.”

“You said that last night,” Chris reminds him. 

“And it is. Still. And I don’t know what to do next.” Darren looks at him. “I’m gonna get fired. Teachers don’t get away with shit like this.” 

“Why not? I don’t understand. You’re a teacher,” Chris says helplessly, like that should be providing all the answers. “If you don’t tell, and I don’t tell-” 

“It won’t work,” Darren insists. 

“Why?” Chris frowns. “I’m almost eighteen.” 

“When?” 

“... next May.” Chris shrugs. “But I’m going to graduate then. As long as I don’t tell anyone and you don’t and we aren’t _dumb_ about it…” 

“It won’t work,” Darren insists. 

“But _why won’t it_?”

“You think I understand any more than you do?” Darren sighs. His voice sounds like he swallowed gravel and his eyes are bleary and shot through with red. “I just keep fucking this up.” 

He sounds so defeated and it hurts Chris beyond what he’d thought was his capacity to even hurt for a person that wasn’t himself, his sister, or some fictional construct. 

He reaches out and grabs Darren’s hand. “You’re not fucking anything up.” 

Darren gives him a look made of half hope and half dismay. “You don’t even fucking know. But you look at me sometimes like I’m just- like I’m supposed to _know_ how to even fix it.” 

“You don’t fix it, but you help it,” Chris says. He realizes Darren isn’t even wrong, but he can’t just leave it at that. 

“You’re - seventeen. Almost eighteen. And I’m twenty four. It feels like you don’t even get how _young_ I still am. No one in the school does. It’s like, I’m a teacher. That’s supposed to make me a functional adult. Fuck, I thought it would, I thought - teachers just. Are. They know what to do. They’re in charge. But I don’t. I don’t know what to do. If I did, I wouldn’t be sitting here falling-” 

He stops talking. 

“What?” Chris asks. 

He really, desperately wants to know what the end of that sentence was. 

But Darren just shakes his head and squeezes the hand that Chris is still holding. “Come on. I’ll make you some breakfast.” 

* 

Nothing is really resolved. 

Nothing is neat and clean about this. 

Nothing makes sense. 

Chris sits at the table for a few minutes longer, just watching Darren from across the room. 

* 

Everyone comes back in a rush, just as Chris and Darren are finishing the dishes. 

They’ve eaten and cleaned mostly in silence. Now that there’s a crowd again, Chris isn’t interested in staying. 

He has too much to process. Too much to think about. He looks over at Darren. “I need to go. I have to feed my dogs and let them out.”

“I’ll walk you out,” Darren says, tossing a dish towel aside. 

It’s cold outside. Chris lingers while Darren shuts the door behind them. “So are we…” 

Darren looks at him. “They’re heading for Los Angeles later this afternoon. Can you come back over?” 

Chris’s heart starts to pound again. “Sure you want to do something so _dumb_?”

Darren looks a little sheepish. “We need to figure this thing out. And… I want to see you again. Alone.” 

“I’ve never been on a date,” Chris says, cheeks pink with more than the chill in the air. “I’d never kissed anyone before last night. Or done - anything else.” 

“That’s…” Darren clears his throat and looks down. “Way hotter than it should be, actually. But yeah we can - we can talk about all that, too.” 

Chris looks at his car but doesn’t walk away yet. He wants something else, but he’s just not sure how-

“C’mere,” Darren says, like he can read Chris’s mind. 

Chris steps into the hug, breath huffing out of him at how tight Darren squeezes. 

*

Chris takes care of the animals at home, and then sleeps for five hours. 

He wakes, showers, eats, plays with the dogs, and then stares at his phone waiting. 

*

“Hey, you got the food. Awesome.” Darren opens the door to let him in. 

The apartment looks different, empty and cleaner than Chris has ever seen it. He follows Darren into the kitchen and puts the bags of Chinese takeout down on the counter. 

Part of him wants to get the _conversation_ over with now. 

Part of him is afraid that the _conversation_ will involve an apology and a polite letdown. 

He’s already tried to imagine how he’ll feel if that’s what happens. Disappointment, embarrassment. Will he try and convince Darren that it’s worth trying? 

He’s tried to separate out how much of what he’s feeling is genuine and how much is excitement, being wrapped up in something illicit. 

He keeps coming back around to the way that Darren makes him feel: safe, encouraged, appreciated. 

It’s not about Darren being older, or hot. It’s not about Darren being the first man to ever kiss him. 

It’s about Darren really listening when he talks. It’s about Darren laughing at the jokes he makes. It’s about Darren asking him about his future, and actually caring how he responds. It’s about Darren being the person that sees the shitty parts of his life and wants to make them better. 

Maybe it’s not everything, but it’s more than he’s ever had before. It makes his heart beat faster when he’s around Darren. It makes him want and _feel_. 

So yeah, maybe he’s prepared to fight for this, if he has to. 

*

Apparently Darren wants to cut to the chase, too. 

They eat with plastic utensils at the two-chair kitchen table. After only a couple of bites, Darren starts to talk. “I was fifteen when I slept with a girl the first time. I was eighteen when I slept with a guy. I’ve had two serious girlfriends. I’ve never had a boyfriend. I drink. I don’t smoke, except a little pot once in a while. My mom is my favorite person in the world. You met most of my other friends last night. I’ve got a few back in San Francisco, but - I don’t go back there too much anymore, even though I think of it as home. I’m close to my brother, but we had some issues the past couple of years we’re still trying to get past.” 

Chris blinks owlishly at him. “What?”

Darren twirls lo mein on a fork and then shoves it into his mouth. “Come on. We’re getting to know each other. We need to know what we’re getting into, right?” 

“Oh. Um.” Chris shrugs a little. “There’s not as much to know about me. I have one sister, Hannah. She’s special needs - epileptic. My mom and dad have a lot to handle with her. I like musicals and Harry Potter. I like to write.” 

“Knew that one,” Darren says, smiling. “You’re good at it, too. Shitty with the spelling, but your style is still good.” 

Chris is bolstered by the compliment. “Thanks. So I - I don’t know. Besides that.” 

He’s never done well when put under a spotlight unless it’s actually on a stage. 

“Okay. We’ll work on it.” Darren reaches out and stabs at a piece of Chris’s chicken with his fork. “Food sharing privileges. That comes with the whole dating territory, too.” 

“Steal my food again and there might not be any dating,” Chris shoots back. 

Then he reaches out and spears some of Darren’s pork. 

Darren looks delighted. 

* 

“You can stay for a while?” Darren asks once the leftovers are put away. 

“Maybe.” Chris drops his fork into the sink and turns to look at Darren. 

“Good. Because I did something last night that I kind of want to do again.” Darren edges closer. If Chris didn’t know better, he’d say Darren might be a little nervous. 

But really, why would he? It’s not like Chris is all that intimidating. Especially not with what must be excruciatingly obvious attempts at being flirtatious. “I think you should.” 

Darren’s mouth twitches with a smile. “You don’t even know what I’m gonna do.” 

“Well, I just assumed you meant serenade me with Disney tunes.” Chris tilts his head cockily. “Why, was that not it?” 

Darren’s laughing. “Oh no. Totally it.” 

“Well, bring it, then.” 

And Darren brings it. He steps close to Chris and puts his hands on the counter on either side of Chris, bracketing him. “ _There you see him, sitting there across the way… he don’t got a lot to say… but there’s something about him…”_

“I… oh.” Chris is pretty sure his heart is about to pound out of his chest. He tries to stammer out something resembling sarcasm. “You should really be embarrassed. That’s embarrassing. I’m embarrassed for you.” 

“Are you now? _Don’t know why, but you’re dying to try… you wanna kiss the…_ ” Darren’s still laughing when he presses his mouth to Chris’s. 

Yeah, Darren definitely has no reason to be nervous. 

*

So they're dating. 

Sort of. 

It's not as if they can actively date, nothing that involves going out anywhere. 

Chris doesn't have a lot to compare it to but he's pretty sure even if they had the option of going out, he'd prefer to stay in. He doesn't need to show off or show out for anyone. This isn't something he needs to use to prove other people wrong. 

This is _his_. This is his experience, this is a page in his own book. He's fine with Darren being the only other person that gets to read it. 

His parents think he's dating someone, he knows that. They wonder where he goes off to every weekend. They haven't asked many questions. His parents trust him, and while there's a part of him that wouldn't mind a little more attentiveness he understands that they have more important things to worry about. 

As long as he's not causing any trouble, his parents will allow him the kind of freedom he's never asked for before now.

They haven't even asked if it's a guy or a girl, which is the most hilarious part to Chris. He's not sure if they ever would. 

*

The day before school starts (for Darren; Chris has a couple extra days of freedom still, they eat lunch together. 

"We need rules," Darren says. 

"Yeah," Chris agrees. "I came up with some." 

"Yeah?" Darren looks interested. "Really?" 

"First: Nothing happens at school. Ever. We shouldn't even be alone together anymore." 

"What about the grading-" 

"Second: No more grading help." Chris doesn't like that one as much, but he's also sure that from now on he'll be hyper aware of anyone catching him with Darren. An hour a day a few times a week seems like asking for trouble. 

Chris has enough issues in school without being accused of fucking a teacher, and he knows Darren doesn't want to lose his job. 

Darren frowns but he's nodding, too. "Okay, yeah. Makes sense." 

"But." Chris is particularly proud of this one. "I don't have to tell my parents I'm not helping you grade anymore. They already expect me to be later on those days, so..." 

"So... you could... come hang out here?" Darren asks hopefully. 

Chris grins. "That's what I was thinking." 

"So. What else?" Darren clasps his hands on the table and leans forward. 

Chris leans forward, too. "No names in phones." 

"Okay. Easy enough." 

"No pictures on phones, either. In case someone borrows them and gets nosy." 

"Makes sense."

This is the hardest. "I should probably stop volunteering on Saturdays, too." 

Darren frowns. "No. I'm vetoing that one." 

"It's time that everyone knows we're spending alone together-" 

"What like, fifteen minutes? Maybe? And everyone has known it for a couple months now, no one gives a fuck." 

Darren looks bothered enough by it that Chris has to ask."Why does it matter so much?"

Darren shrugs. "It's just - it's like the best time of week for me, you know? Working with those kids? And I really like it when you're there with me. Being a part of it, too. I like sharing that with someone special." 

Chris blushes and mumbles, "You aren't playing fair." 

"But is it working?" Darren says in a teasing voice. 

"Maybe. Okay, we can negotiate that later. After we see how it goes. But the rest is firm, okay?" 

"Got it." Darren reaches out and grabs his hand. "I'm glad one of us is on top of this." 

"Was there anything you were going to add?" 

"Um." Darren shrugs sheepishly. "I mean, I was mostly gonna say we probably shouldn't make out in the janitor's closet no matter how hot it sounds-" 

"Wait, what? That's something you've thought about?" Chris's eyes go wide. "Seriously?" 

Darren smirks. "Like you haven't?" 

“Well, I am now,” Chris mutters. 

Their eyes meet and it turns into one of those charged moments, the ones that happen more and more often now. Darren's hands is still warm and strong over his and Chris feels the little buzz of desire running through him, making him want to shift in his seat. 

*

Chris never quite loses the feeling that this shouldn't be working, but somehow it does. 

It's easy to keep his distance in school, knowing the consequences and knowing he's got other time to satisfy those little daydream urges he gets. He's in Darren's class again - Music Appreciation II. He hadn’t been signed up for it originally but it hadn’t taken much convincing to let them change his schedule around. 

He doesn’t even feel that guilty. He’d done it before they were anything, just because Darren's class was one of the least miserable times of his day and if he could manage an hour and a half of his day being more tolerable... he wasn't going to pass that up. 

But nothing really changes. Darren is still his teacher when they're in the classroom and outside of the classroom they're - something. Chris isn't sure what yet, but he tests his boundaries at the speed he feels comfortable with it and Darren never seems to want anything more than what Chris is good offering him. 

* 

February grows cold, edging into spring but not quite there yet. Winter clings and the temperatures dip down low enough for discomfort. 

Chris forgets his jacket again. 

“Shit, your nose is like ice,” Darren yelps. 

Chris pushes his face more tightly against Darren’s neck. “You’re warm.” 

“Not since you stuck your ice-nose on me.” Darren rubs his hands up and down Chris’s back. “Do I need to like, buy you a coat or something?” 

“No, I have one. I just forgot it.” It’s still in his locker, which he’d avoided visiting after he saw the guys waiting by it. 

"Uh huh. Now tell me the truth." Darren's arms lock around his waist. 

It feels nice. It feels safe, and secure. Not at all like he felt when he saw the guys lingering by his locker and had to walk out without any of his stuff to avoid them. "I cheated on my Algebra II test today. That the kind of truth you wanted?" 

"Brat," Darren says, laughing. He rocks from side to side a little, making them sway together. It's almost like dancing. 

*

There's actually not a lot happening that would hit above PG-13. 

It's more conversation than anything. Darren was honest in his slightly inebriated admission. He needs conversation and people like a plant needs sunlight. He soaks up the companionship, clinging a little in ways that maybe should be off-putting and maybe after a few months will grow to be but right now just makes Chris feel wonderfully wanted and appreciated. 

They cover every topic, inane rambling tangents and stories (Darren has so many stories) and it's Darren more than Chris but Darren also has a way of weaving his way around Chris's usual avoidance tactics and prying the words from him. 

“An agent? Really?” Darren asks. 

“Yeah.” Chris shrugs a little. “When I was fourteen I told my parents I wanted an agent for Christmas. So… they got me one.” 

Darren laughs. “That’s actually pretty badass. Have you had any roles?” 

“No.” Chris shrugs again. “I’m not really the Hollywood type. I get a few auditions a year, and my parents usually take me. But my mom said if I haven’t gotten anything by the time I turn eighteen, it’s up to me… I guess, to decide if it’s worth it, driving to Los Angeles and back.” 

“When’s your birthday?” Darren asks. 

“In May. I’ll turn eighteen about a week before graduation,” Chris says. 

“Perfect. So if you get any more auditions after that, I’ll drive you,” Darren says. “If you want to keep doing it, I mean.” 

“I do,” Chris admits. “I’m not ready to give up. But - if I go to CCC, do you think I’ll have time?”

“We’ll make time,” Darren says, tugging him in close. He leans in and kisses Chris - a shocking delight. Chris puts a hand on Darren’s cheek and leans in for more. He’s still too unsure about starting this, but once Darren opens the door he all but leaps through it. “You know. Once you’re eighteen and you’ve graduated, I can take you out for real. We don’t have to hide it.”

“I-” Chris sighs and leans his head on Darren’s shoulder. “I don’t know. My parents wouldn’t…” 

Darren kisses his forehead. “It’s cool. If you’re not ready. It’s big, I know. That’s a big thing.” 

He thinks about it a lot lately - coming out. 

It’s another one of those things he figured he’d have to do one day, but he hadn’t thought there’d be any situation that might call for it before he was at least in his twenties. 

But now there's Darren and Chris has no clue where this is going. He's pragmatic enough to want to assume it'll be over when the school year ends, but young and romantic enough to truly hope that it doesn't. 

"Hey," Darren says, gently. "What did I tell you about that whole thinking too hard thing?" 

Chris forces a smile. "I think as a teacher you're generally supposed to encourage thinking, not discourage it." 

"I'm off the clock." Darren winks at him. 

*

They kiss goodnight by Darren's front door. 

They've done this before, plenty of times. 

But this time... Chris doesn't want to let go. Darren's been particularly tempting all night, soft and sleepy-eyed and unintentionally sweet with the way he listens to Chris and encourages him. 

Apparently that's a thing for Chris, something that gets him going. Common decency and kindness and genuine interest. No wonder his social life has been so barren, what with those being his standards and all. Those qualities like rare gems in the sub-sect of society that is high school. 

So Chris wraps his arms around Darren's neck and kisses back harder when Darren expects him to pull away. He can feel the moment of indecision transcribed in Darren's posture and then Darren pushes back. Chris gets bolder and his tongue plays out, licks over Darren's bottom lip. Darren opens to him instantly and it's the first time Chris has initiated this and it's... 

It's good. 

"Damn," Darren swears softly when Chris does lean back. "Where did that come from?" 

Chris shrugs. He can tell his cheeks are probably pink and he knows the smile on his face must look ridiculous, but Darren looks pleasantly thrown off by the kiss, too. 

"Don't you ever just want more?" Chris asks. “From me? More than… what we do?”

Darren steps into him, crowding him. Chris has spent his life so carefully defending against this, perfecting the art of wanting his space. With Darren it's a welcome invasion. 

He can't stop staring at Darren's mouth. 

"Chris. There are a lot of things in life I want." Darren's lips touch his again briefly, softly. "But right now what I have is better than all of that. It's good when it's what we both want." 

"I'm... getting there," Chris admits, voice catching. "I think I am." 

Darren smiles. "Doesn't matter how long it takes, okay? Don't even let that be a thing. It's not, for me. I'm good just like this. We're good." 

Chris reaches up and plays with the hair at Darren's temple. He feels wanted in a way that bolsters his ego and safe with Darren in a way that makes him comfortable with being wanted at the same time. It's a wonderful feeling. "Yes, you are," he murmurs. "You're good."

*

It's a Wednesday morning and Darren isn't in class. 

A disgruntled French teacher who has just been asked to give up part of his free period babysits them instead. They're instructed to work on homework, which no one does. 

Two of his classmates are chattering nearby. 

"I saw him in the principal's office," the more vapid of the blondes says. "He was getting his ass handed to him." 

The other laughs. "I bet he's doing Casey. She thinks just because she's going to be head cheerleader that her tits are made of gold or something." 

"Gold? More like plastic. But I bet Mr. Criss goes for that." She laughs unkindly. 

She has a smear of bright pink lipstick on her teeth. Chris is glad. 

Or as glad as he can be when the only thing he can think is _Oh, fuck. We got caught._

It doesn't even really make sense, because what have they done that would get them in that much trouble? They've barely been alone on school grounds except on Saturdays for the music lessons, and that's maybe twenty minutes of privacy in which the door is always open. They've never kissed, touched, held hands - nothing where anyone could see. 

Even behind the safely locked door of Darren's house, they've shared a handful of kisses and not much more. 

But Chris is still sick with worry until Darren walks in the room. Then he finally relaxes, because Darren looks _pissed_ more than anything else. Chris tries to school his expression into something besides concern but Darren must pick up on it because his eyes meet Chris's a few times more than normal and each time he gives Chris a worn but genuine smile. 

*

For the first time, Chris lingers after class on purpose. He holds a sheet of paper in his hand like it might be an assignment, a cover in case anyone walks in or even by the still opened classroom doorway. 

"Everything okay?" He asks. 

Darren's face crumbles for a moment. He squeezes his eyes together. "No. But it's nothing too bad, don't worry." 

"We'll talk later?" Chris asks. "I can come over tonight." 

Despite leaving the weeknight grading sessions open for themselves, since midterms are approaching they’ve keep it to weekends. Darren has more grading than he can handle and Chris is in the same boat with homework, plus watching his sister while his mother uses the late afternoon and evenings to get errands done that are easier to do by herself. 

"Please?" Darren asks. 

"I'll be there around six." Chris reaches out and squeezes his hand. It's quick, barely even qualifies as a grasp, but Darren smiles. 

* 

Chris's mother smiles that pleased smile when Chris says he has somewhere to be. 

"When do we get to meet this lucky girl?" She asks. 

If there's anything that could spoil Chris's mood, that's it. 

"You don't," he snaps, and storms out. 

He's not even really mad, but he's earned a few stereotypical teenage moments, he thinks - and he knows his mother well enough to know that she won't find the fight worth it. He's only buying himself time, because right now he wants to be able to focus on what's going on with Darren and not his own family situation. 

* 

Darren is wearing pajama pants and no shirt when he answers the door. 

"Hey, sorry. I showered not long ago..." 

"Um." Chris's mouth seems to have gone dry. When did that happen? He's not sure. Darren has chest hair. That’s good to know. Good information to file away. Good. "No complaints here." 

Darren grins at him, eyes going squinty. "That so?" 

"Stop distracting me," Chris says, though his eyes definitely don't get the memo. "What happened today?" 

"Oh, um." Darren turns around. "I ordered a pizza, you want some? I wasn't sure what time you were coming so I didn't wait-" 

"Darren." Chris follows Darren into the kitchen, but doesn't let him keep rambling. "What happened?" 

"I got written up," Darren says. He gestures to the pizza box. 

"I ate at home," Chris says. "You got written up? What for?" 

"Because school has dumb rules." Darren sounds as petulant as any teenager when he says it. He crosses his arms over his chest. "I think the dress code is archaic and I wasn't writing up anyone for breaking it. Someone complained." 

"Someone complained that you weren't getting students in trouble? How does that even work?" 

"I guess if someone is written up and it's later in the day they check out who the first period teacher was? I don't even know." Darren taps his fingers against his arm, agitated. 

"And you got _written up_ for that?" Chris asks again. He's baffled. 

"Well." Darren clears his throat. "I might have gotten written up for... expressing my opinion about the rules in the first place." 

"What does that mean?" 

"I told the principal I thought the dress code violations were bullshit, students should be allowed whatever piercings or body modifications they want, that’s artistic expression for a lot of these kids. We live in a fucking repressed society and if they want to show who they are by what they do to themselves and own their bodies, if they’re old enough or they had permission from their parents to do it, why the fuck not? And that whole shit about skirt length is antiquated. He came at me with this whole line about how girls needed to dress modestly to avoid tempting the guys, and just - have you ever heard such _bullshit_ , Chris? I mean, like, I get what kind of dumb fucks teenage boys can be but to say it's a girl's fault if a guy gets distracted because her tits are hanging out? Like, fucking teach your boys some goddamn respect and decency, okay? Don't give a girl detention because a guy can't keep his dick in his pants. Punish the _guy_." Darren gets louder and louder as he goes, slapping his hand on the counter when he finishes. Then he stares at Chris, and shrugs a little, sheepish. "So that's what I got written up for. Basically, saying all that." 

Chris's eyes are wide. "Wow." 

"I know." Darren drops his head back, groaning. "I know. Sometimes I don't know when to shut u-" 

Chris grabs Darren's face and kisses him hard on the mouth. Darren wraps his arms around Chris and kisses him back, and oh wow, yes, that's a lot of naked flesh under Chris's hands, and that is Darren's warm and also very naked chest pressed against Chris, and Chris could so get used to this. 

* 

The whole thing between them doesn't start to feel like something real in a way that might end up being dangerous until Darren meets Chris's parents. 

It happens by accident, but it's also Darren's fault a little bit. Darren is the one that talks to the guidance counselor about arranging a meeting with Chris. Darren is the one that pushes her to push Chris to apply for other colleges. 

The counselor sets up the meeting. 

She invites Chris's parents, without Chris knowing. 

She invites Darren, without Chris knowing. 

It feels like an ambush when he walks into the office just as his last period class should be starting and finds those three faces he's terrifyingly familiar with all sitting around together making small talk. 

Darren sends him as close to an apologetic look as he can get, but Chris is in full on defensive mode. The terror mellows somewhat when he finds out that it's just about his future and not some confrontation on their relationship, but Chris still hates it and the meeting can't end soon enough. 

"Mr. Criss seems to think you have exceptional writing talent that might be... better encouraged in a different setting," the counselor says. She's a neat, tidy woman with black hair pulled back into a bun and eyeliner a fingerprint smudge of eyeliner in the corner of her eye. 

"Does he now?" Chris asks, staring straight ahead. 

"He said that you spoke to him about your future plans and that you're applying for Clovis Community College, is that right?" She doesn't really pause to wait for him to reply before she keeps talking. "I just wanted to make sure that you and your parents were aware of other options available to you. I've reviewed your transcript and I'm not sure that you really qualify for any academic scholarships, but given that you are from a home with a special needs child I've pulled a few things that you could apply for that might help you out financially at a bigger university. You can also try for essay scholarships, though most of the deadlines have passed for those to do any good for your first semester." 

She keeps talking, reeling off the words like she has the whole spiel memorized. Chris's mother interjects with a couple of questions but Chris is resolutely silent. The most active he is in the conversation is accepting a stack of college booklets when she pushes them across the desk toward him. 

She continues on in almost the same breath with suggestions for how he can beef up his applications and what kind of after school activities would be impressive to admissions officers. He really has no intention of doing anything she's suggesting but right now he'll say whatever it takes to get this meeting over more quickly.

When she finally stops talking, she looks straight at Chris. She asks the one question he hates more than any other question. 

"What do _you_ want to do?"

Chris looks over at Darren, who just watches back. Chris feels like he's operating in some kind of default mode, agreeing and nodding and responding in monotones to what everyone says. His odd behavior makes the counselor uncomfortable and his mother annoyed.

His father really seems like he couldn't care less. Darren just tries to diffuse the tension when possible and the rest of the time he is uncharacteristically quiet.

"Graduate," Chris says. "I just want to focus on graduating, okay?" 

The counselor sighs. 

*

Chris thinks maybe they've gotten away with avoiding any real interaction between Darren and his parents as they leave the meeting. 

Of course he thinks that a few seconds too soon. 

Darren is obviously trying to escape as quickly as possible, but Chris's mother follows right after him. "Mr. Criss?" 

Darren turns around, looking like a deer caught in the headlights. He recovers admirably, though, and gives her a big smile "Mrs. Colfer! Let me tell you again, it's a pleasure to meet you." 

"I just wanted to thank you. Christopher speaks so highly of you. I'm not sure he's ever had a teacher that he felt quite this much of a connection with, and that just means the world to us that someone has taken such an interest in him." Karyn Colfer says it with the utmost sincerity in her voice. 

Chris wants to laugh, or maybe throw up. 

His parents are going to hate him for this one day. Maybe. If he ever tells them. 

Darren shakes her hand. Chris admires his acting skills. "It's been my pleasure, Mrs. Colfer. Chris is an amazing student. I feel lucky to have him in my class." 

"You're probably the first teacher to ever say that," Chris interrupts, rolling his eyes. 

"Christopher!" His mother scolds him. 

"It's okay, Mrs. Colfer. He's just doing what teenagers do." Darren sounds so fond and familiar that for a moment Chris is afraid his mother will be able to look at them and see everything. 

She doesn't, though. His father is the one that says, "Well, we should get going." 

*

When Chris gets home, his parents sit him down. 

This talk is a longer and more excruciating version, because he's forced to pay attention and interact. It still don’t stop the anger in him from growing - anger at Darren for intervening like this. 

"We feel like we haven't been supportive enough of you," his mother says. 

"Son, you can do whatever you put your mind to," his father says. 

"Chris, you should work in a zoo," Hannah says, and - well, of everyone, she actually might be onto something, actually. 

"What do _you_ want to do?" His mother asks, just like the counselor had. 

"I don't know." Chris stands up, not making a move to grab the college brochures. "Why does it suddenly matter? I'm going out. I'll be back before morning." 

He’s sure that’s not what his mother wants to hear. Technically, he’s never been given a curfew but he’s really never needed to be given one before. He doesn’t plan on sticking around long enough to have it argued, though.

"Christopher-" He hears his mother say as he closes the front door behind him. 

*

Chris drives straight to Darren's house. He parks in the driveway and tries to decide if he should call before he goes in. 

He decides not to. They've been doing this - whatever they're doing - for almost four months now. He's earned at least one random drop in privilege. 

He would prefer if this were a fun visit and not a _so angry I can't actually think_ visit, but it's not like he could have planned in advance for this. 

"What was that?" Chris asks as soon as Darren opens the door. 

Darren opens the door wider and lets him in. Chris walks past him. He doesn't bother taking his jacket off. He's not even sure how long he'll stay here. He's not sure what a fight with Darren will feel like, or if he'll just want to... to get away, to run from it. 

He feels young right now, and also not. He feels less and less out of his element with every day he spends with Darren. Darren makes him - not afraid. 

But the lack of fear inspires the comfort to let anger in when he thinks it's deserved. He turns and looks at Darren and Darren looks many things - embarrassed, flustered, nervous. "Sorry, Chris, I didn't know she was gonna do that with your parents. I thought she was just going to like..." 

"To what?" Chris asks. "I don't even know what you did." 

"I just went to her and said I thought you could use some help with college." Darren shrugs. "She was supposed to give you some places you should apply and, I don't know, a pep talk or something. Not... that." 

"Why would you even do that?" Chris asks.

"Because I know you want it. At least a little bit." Darren looks at him, eyes wide. "You want to get out of here, you want to be more than this." 

Chris's gut reaction is to feel like his privacy has been invaded. All those dreams for the future that he told Darren - he confided in trust and that trust feels betrayed right now. "You had no right." 

"Chris, come on-" Darren protests. 

"No!" Chris raises his voice. His arms are wrapped tight around himself. "You had no _right._

"I was being a fucking teacher!" Darren says as he defends himself. 

“It’s my future, not yours.” Chris is pissed now, letting himself feel it and express it. "You were being nosy." 

"I was trying to make sure you get out of this shit hole!" Darren shouts. 

"You were trying to send me away!" Chris shouts back. 

Darren's mouth drops open and his eyes go squinty, but not that happy squinty way they get. This is sheer frustration and disappointment and anger, though Chris isn't sure at who. "No," Darren says. "I wasn't." 

Chris believes him. Chris doesn't really think this is all some orchestrated plan for Darren to dump Chris, no matter how the words sounded coming out of his mouth. 

But it's still frustrating because just when he's found something in this town that he thinks might make staying here tolerable, he feels like that one thing is trying to push him away. 

Darren stares at Chris so long and hard that Chris can tell he's wanting to say something. He sighs. "What is it?" 

"Chris. I'm not staying here, either," Darren finally admits. "They're not offering me a contract. They found someone else to take the job permanently." 

"So you're leaving?" Chris feels cold all over and his fingers are weirdly tingly in an unpleasant way. "When were you going to tell me?" 

"I just found out last week," Darren says. "I don't know - when I figured something out, I guess." 

"Did you find out before or after you talked to the counselor about colleges?" 

Darren looks away shiftily. "After. Is that bad?" 

"I don't know," Chris answers, being completely honest. "Why after?" 

"Because. I'm selfish. And kind of an asshole. I thought about it before but if I was gonna be around here... I liked the idea of you being here, too. But when I realized I don't have to stay..." 

"You decided to 'let me go' then?" Chris does air quotes. 

"Do you hate me?" Darren asks. 

Chris laughs. It's loud and happy and a shock to the tension between them. "No. I think I kind of love you." 

Darren's smiling a little. "Yeah?" 

"Yeah," Chris confirms, reaching for Darren's hands. He grabs both of them and squeezes tight. 

"I think I kind of love you, too," Darren says. 

"Enough to be selfish about me." The more the thought settles into Chris, the more delighted he is with it. "Enough to keep me here even though you think it isn't what's best for me." 

Darren draws him in for a tight hug. "You're worth hanging onto." 

*

 

They stand there wrapped in each other and then they're kissing. Long kisses, deep kisses, desperate and digging into each other. Chris breathes faster and heavier and something restless churns under his skin. 

This is real. 

He's in love. 

They're in love. 

"Can we?" He asks, breathless and floating with the possibility. 

"You want to?" Darren's mouth is on his neck. His chin is scratchy and his lips are soft and warm and wet. 

Chris's hands grasp uselessly at Darren's shoulders. "If you want me." 

"So much," Darren promises. "I want you so much. Been wanting you." 

Then Darren's hands are on him everywhere, inching up the back of his shirt, solid thigh between his legs. Chris's whole grasp on the situation is up-ended again but this time he has all the trust in Darren to show him where steady ground is again. 

* 

His back hits the bed and he's not naked yet but he will be soon. He's breathing hard and sweat collects on the small of his back and the back of his neck but not nearly as much as there is on Darren. 

Sex is so many things that Chris expects but couldn't really comprehend. There's laughter and awkward moments and moments where he isn't sure what to do with his hands his lips his body but the end goal is always there, always obvious. 

Getting off together. Coming together. Making each other feel good. 

And oh, Darren makes him feel _so_ good. Darren pries the first orgasm from him in minutes, his hand on Chris's cock stroking. Chris makes no noise at first until Darren gently urges him to let go, loosen up, relax. 

Darren licks the come off of his stomach. Chris shakes with oversensitivity, trembles as Darren crowds into him and guides Chris's hand down to his dick. The first handjob is barely more than that, Darren's fingers curled around Chris's, hardly more than masturbation with Chris’s fingers as an aide but it seems to work for Darren. 

They luxuriate in filthy sheets and kiss and kiss and kiss until they're ready to go again. 

Chris reaches out and runs his palm down Darren's chest. Darren's all man, hair on his chest and muscle and a little bit of a paunch at his belly, a wild patch of pubic hair and a thick red cock resting only slightly swollen now against perky balls. 

"So is it everything you thought it would be?" Darren asks. 

Chris smiles and kisses him. "Yeah. Was popping my cherry everything _you_ thought it would be?" 

"Fuck. You can't just say that." Darren groans. "You're a fucking minx." 

"Not yet, but if I try really hard..." Chris nudges his knee over Darren's thighs. Darren strokes his hand over Chris's ass, fingers resting on the crack between his cheeks. Chris looks down with blatant interest at Darren's cock waking back up. "I want you to do everything to me." 

"Only if you do it all back to me," Darren says. He pushes Chris over to settle back on top of him and start to kiss his way down.

* 

They don't actually do everything that night. It doesn't go much beyond more mutual hand jobs, dry humping, and Darren giving Chris a blowjob that has him aching. His balls don't even have much left to give over by that point, just a few sluggish spurts that Darren swallows down easily. 

It's just past midnight. They sit in Darren's kitchen and eat cold pizza straight out of the box. "You need to go home?" Darren asks. 

Chris shakes his head. "I'll deal with them tomorrow." 

Darren takes a drink of milk and when he's finished, "You should at least call them." 

Chris frowns. "You're off the clock," he says, sullenly. 

"I'm not being a teacher. I'm being your boyfriend, who wants to keep seeing you and knows he won't if you get grounded." Darren crosses his arms on the counter and leans forward. His hair is a mess, stubble almost beard-thick, fading hickey low on his collarbone. 

Chris's stomach jolts with a very real sense of wanting. He shifts, not sure if he can really get hard again and not sure if he even wants to test it. "It'll be fine," he says. 

"Babe. Please." Darren is still frowning, staring at Chris until Chris sighs. 

"I'll text them," he says, and goes to get his phone. Darren follows him and pulls Chris into his lap on the couch. 

"Comfy?" He asks, hooking his chin over Chris's shoulder. 

Chris shifts around until he can rest his head on Darren's shoulder. He's much too big for this, but he still likes it. 

He has four missed calls and half a dozen texts. 

"See?" Darren says. 

Chris jabs him in the stomach, making him grunt. "Your gloating is not helpful." 

"Not gloating." Darren kisses his shoulder. "I promise. I just want to be able to see you as much as I can." 

Any other time Chris wouldn't buy such a cheesy line, even from Darren. He blames the sex for making him stupid and sentimental. 

Darren watches as Chris sends a quick message to both parents phones. _Out with a friend. I'm fine, I promise. I'll be back in the morning before school._

His mother writes back almost immediately. _We love you._

Darren doesn't say anything, but Chris can _feel_ the 'I told you so' anyway. 

_I love you, too._ , Chris writes back. 

He reaches over and plugs the phone in on the charger Darren has laying on his table, and then turns back into Darren. "I can sleep here, right?" 

"Any time," Darren says, kissing his forehead. "Open invitation." 

*

Chris wakes up before the alarm, to Darren's hand on his cock, jacking him relentlessly. 

"Oh god," he groans, curling in and coming unexpectedly and enthusiastically. "Oh god. I just came all over your sheets." 

"They'll wash," Darren says, kissing his shoulder and rubbing himself against Chris's hip. 

"If you remember to wash them." Chris reaches back and puts a hand on Darren's ass. He isn't sure he has the coordination or the confidence to return the favor but from the way Darren's grunting and panting he isn't sure he even needs to. 

Chris rolls onto his stomach, Darren scrambling to follow and pull Chris's cheeks apart to slot his cock between them. 

"I know you," Chris says. "You'll just fall into bed tonight and forget about that totally." 

"I'll consider it a- um, fuck - a - _fuck_ \- memento-" Darren groans and stutters his hips hard against Chris's ass and Chris feels the hot wet pulse between them, spurting up the small of his back for the first shot and then after that dripping messily down his balls. 

Darren slumps against him, breathing like he's just run a marathon. "Jesus Christ." 

"I just go by Chris." It's the stupidest thing he could possibly say - again, he's blaming the sex. It's doing something to his IQ, he swears it. 

But Darren buries his face in Chris's shoulder and laughs so hard that his body shakes. Before Chris knows it he's giggling just as hard into Darren's pillow. 

*

Chris showers, because he can't exactly go home in the debauched state that Darren's morning greeting left him in, and then he dresses in the clothes he'd been wearing and slinks inside his parents house half an hour before he's supposed to be at school. 

His parents are waiting at the kitchen table. 

"Hi," he says. 

He's not used to this feeling. Embarrassment? Is this what other kids, the ones that actually act out and misbehave on a regular basis, go through? 

"Christopher. We need to talk." 

"I need to get to school," Chris says. 

His mother just shakes her head. "You can be late for once. We'll write you a note." 

Chris doesn't really need a note, he's had his mother's handwriting perfected since the sixth grade. He opts not to divulge that information just yet, though. 

He sits down at the table. "I'm sorry I didn't come home." 

He's not. There aren't words to convey how not sorry he is. But he knows that's what they expect to hear and he knows that's what'll help curtail the conversation. 

"We were _worried_ -" His mother says, then stops, choked up. His father puts a hand on his mother's arm but he looks at Chris. 

Chris feels the weight of that stare. "You're still our kid. You still live in this house. You don't stay out all night." 

"Yes, sir," Chris says. 

"We're grounding you," he adds. 

Chris frowns, annoyance surging fast. "What?" 

"Straight home after schools and on the weekends," he says. 

"You can do your music lessons," Karyn breaks in. "We wouldn't make you stay home from that. But nothing else." 

Chris forces himself to bite back the words he wants to use because he knows how cutting they'd be. "For how long?" 

"Two weeks," his father says. 

Two weeks. 

That's not too bad. 

"Fine," Chris says. "Can I go now?"

"No," his mother answers. "First, we have to talk about college. We've never stopped to talk about it with you, and that was a mistake. You've always been such a driven boy but we're still your parents and we forget that sometimes it is our job to push you. When you said you wanted community college, sweetie, we were just happy you'd still be close by. But that's not what you deserve."

"Mom-" Chris protests. 

"No, honey." His mother speaks in a firm voice. "We're going to discuss this." 

And they do.The conversation drags and drags and in the end, Chris caves. He agrees to pick out five schools to apply to. Late deadlines are close and he'll be pressed to get applications in before them but since Chris has nothing but time stretching out over the weekend, he agrees. 

* 

Chris lingers after class to talk to Darren. 

"I have to pick five schools," he says, blunt and straight to the fact. "Five colleges to apply to. Will you help me?" 

"Yeah, absolutely." Darren's satisfaction is obvious. "After music lessons on Saturday?" 

Chris shakes his head. "I can't. I'm - don't laugh. I'm grounded." 

Darren snorts. "Have you ever been grounded in your life?" 

"No." Chris sulks. "But I am now. Two weeks." 

Darren's voice drops low. "Worth it?" 

Chris looks out the window, not wanting anyone passing by the open doorway to see his smile. "Absolutely." 

* 

Darren does help him on Saturday, just not in person. They spend two hours over instant messenger looking at majors and programs and pre-requisites and admissions guidelines and due dates and in the end Chris has his list. 

Darren tries to talk him into some more reasonable ones, but Chris is set. These schools are out of his league but he knows what he’s doing, and he’s a little surprised that Darren doesn’t catch on. 

Sarah Lawrence. UCLA. NYU. University of Michigan. Northwestern. 

One of those is Darren's choice. Chris only adds it because Darren's enthusiastic appeal involves explaining all the places on campus he always wanted to have sex with someone but never got around to it. 

That leads to a conversation about all the places on campus Darren did get around to having sex on, which leads to a locked door and Chris's introduction to phone sex. 

* 

By Sunday night, all of his applications are in. 

"I feel like puking," he texts Darren. 

Darren writes him back instantly. "That means you're doing the right thing." 

But Chris isn't sure Darren even really understands. He isn't sure anyone does. It doesn’t feel wrong because he’s afraid he won’t get in. It feels wrong because he thinks he’ll be unhappy either way. 

His secret dream for the future doesn't involve going to college at all. That's not the dream he's harboring away. 

What does he really want? 

Hollywood. Stage lights. His name on bookstore shelves. Applause. Appreciation. Adoration. 

Will he get any of that in college? 

Probably not. 

*

One Saturday afternoon while he watches Darren work with the children, Chris starts a new story. He's usually busy during the lessons, occupying whatever students Darren isn't working with, but once in a while Darren is on his game enough that all the kids are patient and listen and behave well enough for Chris to just have nothing to do. 

So he pulls out a notebook and begins to write. Until now his stories have been about escaping or fixing the situations that he's in, situations masked by fictional settings and characters that don't have his name but stories that at the heart are still the lessons his life has taught him and the dreams born from them. 

This is a different story. This is a story about someone else. 

No one notices the scratch of his pen on the paper except maybe Darren, who must decide not to interrupt anyway. Chris fills page after page after page until the bend of his wrist aches and the pads of his fingers are numb from the grasp they've held. 

He likes this story. This is a story about a brown-eyed boy with a beautiful voice who makes the world fall in love with him. It's a story about a boy who doesn't need romance or sex or money to find his happiness, just a song and a person to listen to it. 

He gives the boy a best friend, a brother, and two loving parents. He gives the boy the chances stolen away from Darren.

Chris thinks this story is the one that will have a happy ending. 

*

Later that afternoon Darren brings it up. "So, can I see what you were so busy writing this morning." 

"Uh, no," Chris says in a firm voice. 

They're in bed - naked, sex sweat cooled minutes ago but they have no reason to move yet so they're watching stupid videos on youtube on Darren's laptop. 

Darren turns on his side and props his face against his hand, elbow on the bed. "Why not?" 

"Because." 

"Ooh, that means it's about me." Darren's face lights up. 

Chris shrugs. "I didn't say that." 

"Didn't have to. it's totally about me." 

"Oh god, your ego." 

"It is!" Darren crows. "You gotta let me read it." 

"No. And it's not _about_ you. It's just... about a fictional character inspired by you." 

"Chris. Christopher." 

"Don't call me that," Chris interrupts. "My mother calls me that." 

"Ouch. Okay, sexy bottom-" 

"I hope that's a comment on my anatomy and not your way of telling me you want to top." 

"Uh. Okay. Well, _that's_ up for negotiation, but in this case yeah, I mean this right here." Darren sneaks a hand under Chris and squeezes his ass. "It is a very sexy bottom. Now stop distracting me."

"How can I be distracting you when I don't even know what you were doing?" Chris asks, playing innocent. 

"What I was _doing_ was trying to get you to give up the goods." 

"I think I gave them up," Chris says. "Twice today already."

Darren's already cracked, laughing so hard he takes a minute to answer. "Fuck you. I want to read your story."

"No!" 

"But I'm your _muse_ , Chris. I get a pass to read it when I'm your muse." 

"You're obnoxious. I'm changing the story. I'll make it about Rupert Grint instead," Chris threatens. 

"You wouldn't." Darren pouts. 

"Don't try me," Chris says coolly. 

Darren doesn't say anything. He just grins at Chris. 

"What?" Chris asks. 

Darren shrugs. "Nothing. I just love you." 

Chris's mouth opens and then he shuts it again and rolls over onto his side, facing away from Darren before he says, "I love you, too." 

Darren laughs and moves the computer so he can get closer to Chris, snuggling up to him and spooning him from behind. "Aw, don't hide." 

"Shut up," Chris says, pushing his face into the pillow this time. 

"No." Darren kisses his shoulder. "Weirdo." 

*

The rejection letters come one by one. 

NYU and Sarah Lawrence in the same week. 

Rejection is never pleasant but there's no real disappointment. 

UMich next. Darren takes that one much harder than Chris does. (Chris tells him that it's okay, that if Darren can find a way to get them there that they can still sneak onto the football field and fulfill Darren's lifelong dream of having sex on the M.) 

Northwestern last. 

And then UCLA - a softened blow, not an outright denial but a wait-list letter. 

But, all isn't lost - Clovis Community College welcomes him with open arms. 

* 

Chris doesn't realize how many people in his school actually don't hate him until the school year is about to end. 

Suddenly he gets more hugs, more people circling around to talk to him about his plans, more interest and interaction than he's had in years. 

He wants to stop and ask all of these people where they were when he was getting slammed into walls for being a fag. Where were they when he got locked in the supply room for four hours, when the snotty bitch who writes the 'gossip' section of the paper vaguely implied that he wrote the slurs on the bathrooms walls himself? 

Where were they earlier in the year when he was driven out of his own hotel room on a school trip? 

He realizes that sentimentality is rampant and that these people will adjust their own memories to suit what makes them happiest. But it doesn't stop him from being pissed off about it - until the day he realizes that they aren't even worth his anger. 

Craig, that particularly neanderthalic jock who doesn't buy into the current one big happy family trend, corners him in the hallway when Chris is running late one day. 

"Bringing your boyfriend to graduation?" Craig sneers. 

Chris thinks of the four hours he spent in bed with his boyfriend the previous Sunday. It's not like getting laid has really solved any of his problems but it has provided a nice alternative to worrying too much about them, and the confidence to know that what he is isn't wrong. Nothing involving so many fun orgasms could be that bad, right? So he tilts his head and says in a cool voice, "Maybe. Why, are you afraid he'll be hotter than yours?" 

The punch comes hard and fast and then, proving that his cowardice comes at an expected ratio to his intelligence, he takes off. Chris takes another ten minutes to wipe up the blood dripping and drying on his chin before he walks into his next class. 

He's done with this school. He's done with the anger and the hate and the words and the small-minded attitudes. It's not everyone, he realizes. Most of them simply don't care. He doesn't fit into their boxes and he doesn't try to kiss their asses or be their friend or buy their love. He's not deserving of their kindness because he doesn't warrant their attention. They don't all hate him or who he is, but they aren't moved enough to try and educate or defend him from the ones that do. 

In the walls of this school, Chris is invisible and caught in a system of ignorance and avoidance. It doesn't hurt at all it just fuels the fire that's been growing inside of him for a while now. 

He's getting out of here. 

*

He's in his underwear on Darren's couch the first time he says the words out loud. 

"I don't think I want to go to college at all." 

Darren's equally unclothed, making his way through a stack of quizzes that he has to grade. He has a purple pen between his teeth that he uses to jot notes or mark questions wrong with. 

"Yeah? Really?" Darren asks. "Is this because you don't want to go to CCC? Because you know with UCLA, because you can always-" 

"No." Chris interrupts him. "Even UCLA. I don't think I want to."

Darren puts the stack of papers down on the coffee table and turns to look at Chris. They're facing each other from opposite ends of the couch. "So what do you want to do?" 

There it is - the magic question. 

Chris has an answer this time. It's not a good one, but it's his answer. He takes a deep breath. "I don't know. I just want to move somewhere and... feel like I'm living. I want to get a job and try to act and write. Maybe take acting or improv classes." 

"In LA?" Darren's voice has a weird catch to it. 

"Yeah. In LA. My grandmother left me some money for when I turn eighteen... it's not a lot, but it would be enough to move. So that's what I want to do. What I'm gonna do, I think. I'm - I'm going to move to LA." 

Darren is still just staring at him. 

"What?" Chris starts to get defensive. "Do you think it's a bad idea?" 

Darren laughs. "Shit. No. I don't. I just... shit." 

"What?" Chris asks more insistently this time. 

"My buddy Joey, you met him, remember?” Darren asks. 

“Yeah,” Chris nods.

Darren goes on. “Joey graduated college last year. He was living in Chicago on the theater scene, doing okay but - he called me last night and said he was gonna give Hollywood a shot. He asked me if I wanted to move with it. Split a place somewhere." 

Chris sits up. "What?"

"Chris." Darren tosses the pen aside now, too. He reaches out and grabs both of Chris's hands. "We could do this." 

“What?” Chris gets it, but part of him still needs to hear Darren say it out loud anyway.

“Move to LA with me, Chris.” Darren leans forward, kissing Chris’s unresponsive mouth. 

Chris nods jerkily. “Okay. Yeah. Really?” 

“Really.” Darren’s beaming ear to ear now as he grabs Chris and crushes him into a hug.

* 

Telling his parents is the hardest part. 

Not that he's moving. That's like ripping a band-aid off. He has to reassure them a dozen times that he’s thought it all out. Every base is covered, every eventuality planned for. His father offers to help him make out a budget. His mother fusses and comes up with the worst case scenarios. 

It's exactly what he's expected. He knows how to combat this, how to circumvent their anxieties. 

He also knows that they trust him to take care of himself because he's more or less been doing it since he was old enough to have a key to the house and be left alone while Hannah was in the hospital. 

"Besides," he says. "If it goes that badly, I can just come home and start at CCC in the spring." 

"You're just my baby," she says, pulling him into a hug. The smell of her perfume is overpowering and a little nauseating but he hugs back hard. "If I think of you alone in that big city-" 

"That's the other thing." Here's where it gets difficult. "I'm not going alone." 

* 

"I did it. I told them." Chris says. He speaks low over the phone line. After a few seconds he hears a rustling noise. "What are you doing?" 

"Uh. Checking my windows." Darren answers in a whisper. 

"... why?" 

"To see if your dad's out there with a shotgun." Darren sounds legitimately concerned. 

"You are an idiot. Stop that," Chris says. "My parents don't actually know who you are. Just that I'm dating someone and moving there with them. And - that. That it's a guy." 

"Chris..." The way Darren says it paints a picture in Chris's mind. The way Darren's lips would move to form the word, the little smile, the wide-eyed appreciation. "How did they take it?" 

"I don't think they were that surprised," Chris admits. "My mother wasn't... I mean. They weren't thrilled. She cried. My father couldn't look at me. But they both told me they love me, and... that it doesn't change anything." 

"They'll get used to it, babe. They'll get over it. You're their son, they love you," Darren reassures him. "Do you want to come over?" 

"I should probably stay around here. I think... it was kind of a double whammy. Telling her I was moving and then I was gay in the same night." 

"You are so fucking..." Darren trails off, laughing. "You're amazing, you know that? You're like a fucking forty year old trapped in an eighteen year old's body. Not that I'm complaining. I'm a fan of your eighteen year old body." 

"Perv," Chris says. "And I'm not eighteen for another month." 

"Shh. Sh. We don't speak of that." Darren hushes him. "Like I said. You're forty." 

"So does that mean that technically I'm robbing the cradle?" Chris lays back on his bed, eyes closed, enjoying the conversation. 

"Maturity wise, yeah. And like... that's what counts. So really, Chris. You should be ashamed of yourself." 

Talking to Darren like this feels like coasting in to a stop after that last huge drop on a roller coaster, like stepping out onto solid ground. 

*

“Look at me,” Darren says, cupping Chris’s face in both of his hands. 

Chris looks up at Darren. His morning stubble is stark against sleep-reddened skin and his eyes and happy and warm. 

It’s a Sunday morning. Chris was over as the birds woke up and the sky turned bright, letting himself into the house with the key Darren gave him. 

He’d crawled right into bed beside Darren like he thought he was was supposed to be there, and Darren wrapped him up in his arms like he agreed. 

“What?” Chris finally asks, impatient with the touch even though he kind of likes it. Darren’s fingers press into the fat of his cheeks and then Darren lowers his mouth to kiss Chris’s bottom lip. 

“I just like looking at you,” Darren says. He gives the top lip a kiss, too, tongue swiping out over the cupid’s bow there. “You’re so young.” 

Chris frowns but Darren just laughs. 

“It’s not a bad thing,” Darren says. “You’re - beautiful.” 

“Beautiful is for girls,” Chris says, sulking. 

“No, it’s not. Beautiful is for beauty. And that’s what I see when I look at you.” Darren’s voice is quiet and serious. 

Chris holds his gaze for a minute and then snorts. “That’s such a line.” 

Darren rolls away from him, stretching his arms high over his head. “Is not. Brat.” 

“Old man.” Chris pokes him in the side. “I’m hungry.” 

“I’ll run out for breakfast,” Darren says. He rolls back into Chris and then right on top of him, giving him a full on kiss this time. “I’ll try to make it back before your nap time.” 

“Well, as long as you can go before you need to change your Depends.” Chris snarks right back and then shrieks a high laugh as Darren’s fingers dig in to tickle him before he goes to get dressed. 

*

The end of the school year wears more on Darren than it does Chris, but both of them are left with a sense of freedom that they embrace. 

Things are lighter. They're happier. 

Darren goes away for a weekend, down to Los Angeles to look at places with Joey. Chris can't go but Darren emails him pictures of every place from multiple angles and keeps him in the loop. 

Joey steals the phone at one point. "Chris! This is gonna rock!" 

Chris laughs. He can hear Darren in the background trying to get the phone back. "It is," he agrees. 

They're going to be broke. They're going to struggle. They probably won't all get along all the time. 

It'll be amazing. 

*

Chris’s birthday falls in the week between when he finishes his finals and graduation. He has a few practices to attend in the afternoons, but mostly he spends his last week in Clovis with his family, and with his sister. 

They throw a party for him in the back yard. 

“Invite your… friend,” his father says, uncharacteristically speaking up. 

“Boyfriend,” Chris corrects him. 

He stares his father in the eye. Impending freedom makes him brave. 

His father looks right back, and then nods. “Boyfriend. Invite him.” 

Chris is aware that he should be touched by the gesture. He's also aware that it's kind of fucked up that his father accepting that he has a significant other is something that even takes effort to begin with, just because it happens to be a guy. 

Still, he does regret it a little when he has to say, "I can't. But you'll meet him next week. He'll be at graduation." 

* 

Graduation happens. 

It happens and Chris is glad for it, but it's not a landmark moment in his mind. He always thought it would be but when the day actually came that it would feel like some momentous occasion. 

It's just a day. He wakes up, showers, eats breakfast with his parents. 

Hannah has a fancy new dress for graduation that she shows off. He dances with her in the living room and pretends like he doesn't notice their mother taking pictures. 

His sister's laughter is the sound that he'll miss most when he leaves. 

The ceremony itself is not as long as it could be. It starts to rain halfway through and by the end he's soaked in his cap and gown. 

Darren doesn't even try to take his eyes off of Chris. They grin, not caring who sees. What does it even matter anymore? 

Afterward he finds his family first. 

His mother looks confused, eyes darting all around. 

Chris takes petty pleasure out of knowing what she's wondering and not satisfying her curiosity until she actually asks. "Christopher," she starts, delicately. "I thought your boyfriend was going to be here? Did something change? Because if it has, honey, you know you can always stay-"

"Nothing's changed," Chris says, interrupting her. "He's here." 

He turns and catches Darren's eye. Darren has been waiting on the sidelines for a nod from Chris, and he comes over immediately. 

Chris knows him well enough to know by now that the look on Darren's face is just short of panicked terror. 

"Mom, Dad." Chris takes a deep breath. "This is Darren." 

  


Epilogue: 

"I think I'm going to smell like coffee for the rest of my life," Chris says. He throws his jacket on top of Darren's on the floor by the front door and then kicks off his shoes. 

Darren pops one of his earbuds out. He's on the couch, laptop on his stomach. He closes it and puts it on the coffee table, stretching his body across so he doesn't have to get up. "Hey. Long day?" 

"The longest." Chris drops down onto the couch, thighs over Darren's calves until Darren moves his legs to drape them over Chris's lap instead. "Plans tonight?" 

Sometimes Darren gets last minute invites to play at different places. Sometimes paid, sometimes just for the fun and connections. 

Chris has a decent fake ID but every now and then he has a night where he just decides it isn't worth it. He's fine with Darren getting his people fix as long as Darren is fine with the fact that sometimes what Chris needs is to escape people. 

So far it hasn't been a problem. 

"Nope. And Joey's out." Darren stretches, his t-shirt rising up to show a couple inches of belly. Chris smiles and allows himself the little pulse of ownership that comes with having a boyfriend, a partner. It’s that feeling that catches him off guard sometimes when he realizes just how attractive or amazing Darren is, and how Darren is his. "Just us tonight." 

"Whatever shall we do?" Chris says deviously, palming up Darren's leg. His fingers brush against Darren's inner thigh and he feels the muscle go tense. 

"Feel up to some corruption?" Darren wiggles his eyebrows ridiculously. 

Chris turns and draws his knees up onto the couch, straddling Darren and hovering over him. "From you? Always."


End file.
